Analyse This!
by 0-WateryTart-0
Summary: Travellers from an alternate universe arrive in the SGC and it just so happens that they have a history with Jack O'Neill. With O'Neill plunged back into his past, and the travellers struggling to live in a new dimension, tensions rise pretty fast...
1. Chapter 1

**Analyse This**  
by Watery Tart

**Rating:** M (language, adult themes)  
**Fandoms:** mainly a Stargate SG-1 fic with a few characters from BtVS.  
**Timeline:** Stargate SG-1 - season 4 after "The Serpent's Venom"; BtVS - during the summer between S4 and S5.  
**Disclaimer:** All characters and settings in this story belong to the Stargate and Buffy the Vampire Slayer franchises. I'm just playing in their sandbox.  
**Author's notes:** I started posting this in 2004... yikes. But it started rolling around my head again, so I picked it up, edited and reorganised every chapter, and have more material ready to post. If any of you subscribers were still waiting for the next bit... coming up!

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"Unscheduled off-world activation!"

The gate room siren blared. Carter stopped short in the middle of her report on P4R-286's soil samples, and the sudden noise made Daniel choke on the coffee he'd been sipping. Teal'c didn't move, and a brief exchanged glance told O'Neill that he too was grateful for the distraction. Soil analysis was just about the most boring subject he could think of, and now he had an excuse to stretch his legs.

The team followed Hammond down the stairs leading to the control room, with O'Neill wondering what was going to hit them this time. Unscheduled wormholes could be just about anything, from Goa'uld strikes to dorky scientists coming back with sunstroke. The latter was far more common, these days.

"Receiving IDC: it's SG-1," said Sergeant Davis.

"What?" snapped O'Neill.

"Can you think of anyone who could have got hold of your IDC, Colonel?" asked the General.

O'Neill shook his head, cold rage coiling around his stomach. They'd been compromised, dammit, and he hadn't even suspected it.

The General got hold of the microphone and sent out a message on the radio. "This is General Hammond of the SGC. Identify yourselves."

"This is Major Kawalsky," said a familiar voice through crackling static. "I bet this sounds weird to you, but we're under attack and requesting asylum, sir."

"How many of you are there?"

"Three," said Kawalsky. "We really need–" Gunfire, staff weapon shots and zat blasts took over.

O'Neill stood there dumbfounded. It wasn't the first time he'd heard Kawalsky again after his death, but it was downright spooky every damn time.

"Could he be from some alternate reality?" asked Carter. "I thought we'd had the mirror destroyed."

"So did I, Major," said Hammond. Then he heaved a great sigh and turned to Davis. "Close the blast doors, Sergeant. Defence teams, stand by," he instructed into the microphone.

"Are you sure, sir?" asked O'Neill. "It could just be a big fat trap."

"I'm quite sure, Colonel. If that mirror still exists, I want to know where it is and why it's still intact. And if not, I want to ask the people responsible for stealing your iris code a few questions. That's a damn big security breach, Colonel."

A team of SFs took aim at the gate, hidden behind thick shields. Jack swallowed back a comment about how useful a bunch of SFs would be against a Goa'uld bomb or whatever else the slimy bastards thought of sending through a wormhole.

"Open the iris," said Hammond when everyone was in place. "Major Kawalsky, you have a go," he said through the radio.

O'Neill sighed and fixed his eyes on the screens that showed what was going on in the gate room. Daniel and Carter crowded around him to watch too.

The iris opened, just in time for a man to fly through the gate head first. He landed hard on his face at the bottom of the ramp, his weapon skidding across the concrete ground. Tall, dark hair, BDUs... definitely Kawalsky. Or someone who could make themselves look like him.

"Wow, that's really him..." said Daniel quietly.

"Oh boy," Carter mumbled.

He knew just how she felt. If a long-haired Carter sauntered in, hanging on the arm of an alternate version of himself – probably one with a Ph.D., knowing his luck – he would... well he didn't know what he'd do, but it wouldn't be pretty.

Kawalsky straightened slowly. He had a bloody nose and was covered in grime and sweat. He raised his hands to show that he wasn't here to fight, wincing as he did so, and twisted back to look at the gate. Waiting for the others, no doubt. Well at least they hadn't sent a nuke in, so far.

Enemy fire suddenly crashed through the gate. The blast from a staff weapon slammed into one of the walls, at the same time as a woman hurtled out of the event horizon, reeling under a zat blast. She bashed into the ramp's railing, twitching under the crackling energy shot, and then her legs gave way and she fell to her knees on the ramp.

O'Neill stared at her in utter shock. Of all the twisted shit his brain had been able to think up about alternate dimensions, nothing had been as quite bad, as sick, as _this_. This had to be a dream.

More staff weapon fire flew into the gate room. O'Neill was pretty sure they'd got out the big guns, the intensity of the last blast was more like a staff cannon. The SFs' shields were getting hit, and a couple of them toppled over, smoke rising from blackened equipment.

"Close the iris," said Hammond.

She whirled around when she saw the iris start to close.

"No!" O'Neill saw her mouth it, horror written all over her face.

"We still have someone out there!" Kawalsky's shout reverberated through the gate room.

The iris closed, cutting off the enemy fire. Silence fell in the gate room, resounding after the roar of the staff cannons.

Davis checked the monitors for impacts. "I can't tell what happened, sir, there are a lot of impact events from the fire fight. But if there was a third one..."

"Thank you, Sergeant," said Hammond quietly. It had been a tough call, but it was getting too dangerous in there; O'Neill would have probably done the same.

It all seemed so unreal, though. Maybe it wasn't who he thought. The black and white screens distorted everything, after all. He could barely make out her features, she was crumpled against the ramp, face pressed against the railing.

O'Neill rubbed his forehead and screwed his eyes shut, hoping against hope that when he opened them, he'd wake up in the middle of Carter's report on soil samples. Anything was better than this.

The noise of the blast doors being opened made him jerk back to attention. They revealed Kawalsky standing there, blood still dripping down his face, staring at the control room with a mixture of surprise, exhaustion and anger on his face. She was hauling herself up, gripping the ramp, trembling violently and not making eye contact with anyone. The few glimpses O'Neill got of her face just confirmed what he suspected. Damn it.

"Call a medical team to the embarkation room," said Hammond to Davis, before hurrying down the stairs with Carter and Daniel following suit. O'Neill lingered behind, finally following when Teal'c gave him a quizzical look.

"Relinquish your weapons," ordered Hammond. Kawalsky's MP5 had already skidded far from his reach after the fall, and he handed over his side arm, as well as his tactical vest.

SFs approached her cautiously. She was white as chalk and immobile. The men took a zat gun and a M9 off her; she barely moved when they pulled her tactical vest off. Finally, the SFs stood back, some bagging and tagging the confiscated weapons, others still pointing their weapons at the newcomers.

"Who is in charge of this team?" asked Hammond, once he was facing them.

"I am." Her voice was sharp as ever, despite the zat blast. She managed to turn and shuffle down the ramp until she was next to Kawalsky.

"Identify yourself."

The medical team had appeared behind the SFs, ready to intervene.

"Lieutenant Colonel Margaret Walsh, sir."

_Lieutenant Colonel_. What the hell?! And she was staring at them all. He could see how those familiar blue-green eyes flicked from one SG-1 team member to the next. When her gaze met his, he scowled at her.

"There were three in your party, you had Major Kawalsky and..."

She fell silent and stared at the floor. If it was possible, she looked even paler.

"Lieutenant Riley Finn," said Kawalsky quietly.

Well, at least it hadn't been Carter or Daniel. Killing them, even alternative versions of them, would have been hard on everyone in that control room.

"And how did you come into possession of SG-1's iris code?"

"We are SG-1, sir," she said, looking up at Hammond again. "We're SG-1 in an alternate reality. You may understand if you've also found the quantum... the..."

Whatever energy that had been keeping her on her feet suddenly ran out. She crumpled to her knees, shaking, coughing, retching. O'Neill averted his gaze, but he was pretty sure he heard her curse.

Fraiser approached. "Permission to bring them to the infirmary, General?"

"You do that, doctor."

A pair of nurses hurried towards Walsh and helped her up. Kawalsky walked, and SFs cautiously followed them.

Hammond turned around and marched back up to the briefing room, silent and pensive. They were soon all seated again in front of the paperwork about P4R-286.

"It's hard to believe this could happen again," said Carter. "I mean the chances of Kawalsky showing up again are, well, astronomical. Again."

"Well is it so improbable?" said Daniel. "After all he's been part of the Stargate program from the start, and last time he came through he knew how to use the mirror..."

"Yeah because their Carter had shown him how."

"Well okay, but you don't know that she didn't do that in their dimension. But what I'd like to know is how this quantum mirror is still in one piece. Or maybe there were two?"

"I don't think so. You see..." Carter went on to explain something science-y that O'Neill really didn't want to hear.

In fact, they were getting on his nerves; if this had been his command he would have told them to shut the hell up. But Hammond let them bicker about the possibilities and the probabilities and other annoying and pointless theoretical talk. O'Neill just rubbed his forehead and tried to ignore them.

"In any case," Hammond finally cut in, "we'll have to find out who these people are. I mean we know Major Kawalsky, but I've never heard of a Colonel Walsh."

Carter had grabbed a computer and was checking personnel files. "There's nobody in here by the name of Walsh, sir."

"That would be because she's dead, Carter," snapped O'Neill. Everyone stared at him. Damn mouth. It always opened when it shouldn't.

"You know her, Colonel?" asked Hammond.

"She worked here under General West's command, sir."

"I've got her, sir," announced Carter. "Doctor Margaret Walsh, she was a neuroscientist and a psychiatrist who collaborated with the military for the last twenty years, but most of the projects she worked on are classified. Apparently, she died in February this year."

"I heard she had a little operation going on in Southern California, with a bunch of kids that she'd handpicked," O'Neill said wearily.

"You seem to know a lot about her," said Daniel, frowning a little.

"She's the kind of person you want to keep tabs on. Kinda like Linea. You'll love her."

Daniel stared at him as if he'd been slapped in the face – the Ke'ra thing was still a sore spot. Teal'c scowled at O'Neill with the kind of expression that usually scared the crap out of anyone with a bit of common sense. Carter pretended she hadn't heard their conversation and continued tapping away on the computer, but O'Neill could tell she disapproved.

He didn't care. At this moment, he'd do just about anything to soothe the rage that bubbled in him, and if that meant insulting Daniel, tough. It wasn't like Daniel didn't ever lash out when he was pissed off.

"I can't find much else, sir," said Carter at last.

"I'll make my own enquiries, Major, thank you," replied Hammond.

"Sir, a word of caution, if I may," said O'Neill, making an effort to sound as calm as he could. "Maggie Walsh is bad news. Bad as in 'Dr Evil has nothing on me' bad."

"Are you sure that you're just saying that because she was a shrink?" asked Daniel. "Everyone knows you hate psychiatrists. If Dr MacKenzie's double came through the gate you'd be reacting just the same."

"Dr Jackson does have a point," said Hammond, casting O'Neill a withering glare.

He pasted on an innocent expression, but he knew that most of the psychiatrists who'd seen him had complained and/or tried to paw him off to someone else after mere evaluations, let alone attempts at so-called therapy. In his opinion, that just served them right for trying to pick his brains.

"Well, I'll go make a few calls," said Hammond after a while. "I'll let you know what I find."

Jack ground his teeth, forcing himself to shut up. They'd probably find enough incriminating material when they looked a bit further into the classified files. Hopefully that would put them off from wanting to keep her around for too long.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Dr Fraiser glanced at the woman on the gurney. She was thin, on the way to emaciated. Her hair was short and an ashy blonde colour; silver strands glinted under the neon light. Her eyes were the most striking feature, the only thing that expressed some vulnerability in a face otherwise looked hard and closed.

The woman's stomach had been heaving for the last ten minutes, although it was empty and had been for a while. It didn't sound like this team had had time to get any rations before they'd arrived in this, well, this dimension. Dr Fraiser had seen her fair share of people in that state: exhausted, hypoglycaemic, wounded, and emotionally shaken. And yet this Walsh woman still seemed determined to stay in control.

"Are you all right there, Colonel?" asked Fraiser softly as she saw a particularly violent tremor run through the woman's body.

"I'll be fine once I get enough glucose in me," she replied breathlessly.

"Glucose, huh? Most people would have said you were in shock," said Fraiser as she came closer to Walsh's bed.

"Heart rate's too high."

Fraiser raised an eyebrow. "And you know so much about medicine because...?"

"I'm a doctor?" replied Walsh, with a twitch of the lips that was perhaps a smile.

"A medical doctor?"

Walsh nodded. "Neurology and psychiatry. I'm not bleeding and if the zat had put me in neurogenic shock, you'd be seeing bradycardia, right?"

So she was a MD, and a know-it-all. Well, that usually went hand in hand. "You call them zats too?"

"Jackspeak. My CO didn't like foreign words. Especially those that were longer than two syllables."

"Jackspeak." Fraiser frowned a little. "That's funny, that's a term Dr Jackson uses to define Colonel O'Neill's abuse of scientific jargon."

Walsh said nothing and looked away, her face closed and unreadable. Fraiser wondered how an MD had ended up heading SG-1. And her reaction to the mention of O'Neill and Daniel was... well. What was she trying to hide?

"Could you tell me how Kawalsky's doing?" asked Walsh abruptly.

"Well, he has fractured ribs and a mild wrist sprain. He also has a slight concussion. I take it he hardly set foot on the ramp when he went through the gate, and hit the concrete head first."

"Well, at least no vital organs were endangered, then."

Fraiser raised an eyebrow at the slightly distasteful joke. Speaking of which... she noticed Kawalsky flirting with a nurse who was bandaging his wrist.

"I'm not so sure, it looks like he's been confused enough to forget about the dangers of bothering my staff," said Fraiser, raising her voice to be heard across the whole infirmary.

Kawalsky promptly stared hard at the ceiling. Fraiser gave a satisfied nod. She turned back to see Walsh smiling at her; it was a small smile, but it looked more genuine than the sarcastic sneer she'd seen before. Her heart rate had finally gone back down into the 90s and colour was returning to her face.

"Looks like your heart rate is normalising, and I'm happier with your blood pressure. How's the nausea?"

"Better, Janet, thank you."

Fraiser was taken aback. Not many people called her that. Sam did, and some people from the lab, and that was about it. Walsh suddenly seemed to realise what she had said.

"I'm sorry," she said in clipped tones. "I didn't mean to sound overly familiar."

The phone rang and Fraiser hurried to pick up. She had a brief conversation with General Hammond, who wanted an update on the two people's status, and to know when they could come to the briefing room. It felt like he was in a hurry to ask them questions.

By the time she hung up, Walsh seemed to have phased out entirely. She wasn't trembling anymore, nor did she look frightened. She just seemed absent. A glance at Kawalsky told Fraiser that he was doing fine; he was still trying to make small-talk with the nurse.

"That was General Hammond," she said, and Walsh promptly snapped out of her daze. "He would like to talk to you as soon as possible. Do you think that you'll be up to it?"

Walsh nodded. "I suppose the sooner we clear this up, the better."

* * *

Carter made her way to the briefing room, escorting Colonel Walsh from the infirmary, as per General Hammond's orders. She didn't feel very happy about pointing a zat gun at someone who looked so sick, but Colonel O'Neill had insisted that she had no idea how dangerous Walsh could be. He was escorting Kawalsky, although his eyes stayed fixed on Walsh most of the time.

To say that the Colonel had been acting strangely since the arrival of the two inter-dimensional refugees was a big fat euphemism. He didn't often get this irritable, or paranoid. He obviously knew something that they didn't about this Walsh woman, but of course he wasn't sharing. What had Walsh done for him to be so distrustful? Whatever it was, Carter didn't like the fact that he was judging her so fast: they didn't know what kind of person Colonel Walsh was, and how much she had in common with Professor Walsh.

General Hammond had let them know a little more about Professor Walsh's resume. Margaret Susan Walsh, born February 7 1955, had studied Medicine at the John Hopkins University and specialised in psychiatry and neurology. She'd been approached by the Pentagon in the 80ies to do some research, and had been working alongside the military ever since.

It seemed that her projects had focused on increasing the performance of recruits in various combat situations and that she'd worked in Area 51 and Cheyenne Mountain. She'd been Cheyenne's on-base psychiatrist in the years leading up to the Stargate project. Daniel didn't have any recollections of her, they apparently hadn't met. Carter wondered if this woman had treated Colonel O'Neill as a psychiatrist; Daniel was right, it would explain a lot about the Colonel's reaction to her.

Walsh had then been recruited by the NID and started working on a covert operation in California, a few months before the SGC had opened again for business. She'd got tenure at Sunnydale University as a professor in psychology, but her main work seemed to be implanting chips into the brain of "hostile" creatures to curb their violent behaviour. Carter's guess was that she was testing on aggressive apes. She'd also still been testing various chemicals to increase performances in the field. Apparently, Professor Walsh had been killed in a freak lab accident. At that point of the meeting, Colonel O'Neill had growled something incomprehensible about patchwork.

Despite Colonel O'Neill's dislike for Walsh, Carter was fascinated by some of her ideas. She hadn't realised that earth scientists were able to achieve that level of technology. And it went without saying that a chip causing severe pain whenever the carrier tried to use violence was something that may well come in handy, particularly if they ever made Goa'uld prisoners.

And now they stood in the elevator. Colonel O'Neill could barely keep still, regularly shooting dark glares at Walsh and shifting around impatiently. Carter hadn't often seen him this antsy, and it was getting really annoying, particularly since nobody had a clue about what was wrong with him. Besides, Walsh didn't look so good: pale, clammy, kind of breathless; it seemed inappropriate for the Colonel to be picking on someone who was visibly weak.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" asked Carter.

"Nothing to worry about, Major," she replied quietly but clearly.

"Oh but we _are_ worried," said Colonel O'Neill. "Not for _you_, obviously, but about the shit you could pull on this base."

Carter cringed. She'd heard the Colonel curse often enough, and be rude to a number of people with whom he was meant to be forging diplomatic alliances, but he usually kept _that_ tone for people like Maybourne.

"With all due respect, Colonel, that was out of line," said Kawalsky. "You don't even know who we are."

"With all due respect, ___Charlie__, s_hut the hell up."

"What the fuck's your problem, Jack?"

"Major! Language!" snapped Walsh.

"Aw, come on, Colonel, he's acting like a first class..."

His words tapered off under her glare. She may have looked tired and sick, but there still seemed to be a tremendous amount of authority in her.

The rest of the ride lasted an eternity. Kawalsky kept on shooting angry glares at Colonel O'Neill. Walsh stared at the floor. Carter did the same, wincing when she heard the Colonel grinding his teeth. Tension and icy silence filled the elevator; it was just as bad as the shouting.

This was going to be a hell of a meeting, with Colonel O'Neill acting like a petulant kid; sometimes she didn't know what she saw in him. And if either of the inter-dimensional travellers said that Carter and O'Neill were happily married in their dimension, maybe _she_ was going to flip out too.

General Hammond sat at the briefing room table, taking in the faces of the people settling down. Colonel O'Neill was seething quietly at one end of the table, his eyes fixed murderously on Colonel Walsh. She was staring at her hands, looking ill but grimly determined. Kawalsky was sitting by her, also looking the worse for wear, and occasionally casting angry glances at O'Neill. The rest of SG-1 seemed puzzled and unnerved, most probably because of their CO's behaviour.

Colonel O'Neill was probably right to be suspicious of Walsh. Hammond had been granted access to some of Professor Walsh's classified records from the Pentagon, and found that her studies had gone into a pretty mind-boggling field, with a project called the Initiative. She'd been studying "sub-terrestrials", creatures that sounded like they came from horror movies such as demons and vampires.

Hammond could barely believe that the NID would allow someone to go as far as to create "super soldiers" out of demon parts. But he wasn't surprised that they had let her try experimental drugs on her recruits – including one Riley Finn, interestingly enough – or that the experiments had finally caused her demise. The whole report read like some kind of horror story.

Of course Hammond knew that the woman who sat before him was probably a different person. While Colonel O'Neill's comparison between Professor Walsh and Linea seemed rather apt, they had to find out for themselves how similar her alter ego was.

"Colonel Walsh, Major Kawalsky, I believe that you have a lot of explaining to do. For the time being, we'll be sticking to the basics. You will be fully interrogated as soon as possible."

Walsh looked at him for a moment with a steely glare. According to the reports he'd just read, she had a reputation for being an extremely tough, persistent and demanding person.

"We'll do our best to answer your questions, sir," she replied finally.

"Very well. Why don't you start by explaining what SG-1 means?"

"SG-1 is the name of our team. It's an acronym derived from the name of our 'Stargate' program. The number 1 means that we were the first team created for the exploration of new planets."

"Is this the original composition of SG-1?"

"No, sir. I'm the last surviving member of the original team, which consisted of Colonel O'Neill, Major Carter, Dr Jackson and myself," said Walsh, her voice a little quieter.

The briefing room was silent for a moment. O'Neill pulled a sarcastic sneer, while Dr Jackson and Major Carter seemed fascinated by all this. Walsh seemed to hardly notice, as if she were lost in a daydream. There was something off about her, but Hammond couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"I would like you to tell me about how all this started," said Hammond, drawing Walsh out of her thoughts.

"It all started when Catherine Langford invited Dr Daniel Jackson to analyse the symbols on an artefact that she had found, the Stargate. That was about five years ago, I believe. I was working with the NID at the time."

O'Neill made a disgusted little sound. Hammond glowered at him.

"When Dr Jackson and other scientists finally found out how to make the Stargate work, a first mission was organised by General West. It was led by Colonel O'Neill, accompanied by Dr Jackson and Major Kawalsky, amongst others."

"That story sounds familiar," said Dr Jackson with a small smile.

"Colonel O'Neill's team came back from Abydos with rather interesting prisoners: the Goa'uld Ra and a few Jaffa. The Stargate project was however considered too dangerous and expensive, and was closed down. However, my team interrogated them and had the privilege of studying them closely."

"What kind of team was this?" asked Hammond.

"Mainly doctors and scientists. I'm a medical doctor myself, they considered I had enough experience in psychology and medicine to carry out their assignment."

"Which was?"

"To find out as much as I could about the biology and the psychology of both Goa'uld and Jaffa. There was also another team studied their technology and tried to reverse-engineer it."

"So what happened to the prisoners?" asked Dr Jackson.

"Ra's body gave out within a few weeks because he didn't have a sarcophagus, but some of the Jaffa lived for a year or so, and we spent quite some time studying Goa'uld biology and technology."

Teal'c didn't seem too happy about this, but Hammond wasn't surprised. In fact, if Teal'c hadn't joined SG-1, he probably wouldn't have had any qualms over sending Jaffa to the NID for testing.

"How did you end up being part of SG-1, Colonel Walsh?" asked Hammond.

"General West had retired, and General Hammond got the command of Cheyenne Mountain, although it was hardly being used anymore. And then one day a female airman was abducted by someone coming from the gate, and several men were killed. Colonel O'Neill, Carter, Kawalsky, Ferretti and I travelled to Abydos to investigate."

"Why you?" asked O'Neill.

"Because of my previous assignment, I was the closest there was to a specialist in Goa'uld and Jaffa behaviour and tactics."

"But they sent you out in the field."

"She'd already worked with us... I mean, with Colonel O'Neill and me, when we were in Special Ops," said Kawalsky.

"Really." O'Neill's tone dripped with sarcasm.

"I spent many years evaluating and recruiting operatives for Special Ops missions before my assignment with the NID, and I was occasionally sent out in the field to acquire information."

"Huh," said O'Neill with a scowl.

"Who else worked with you in SG-1?" asked Hammond, who wasn't keen on O'Neill and Walsh getting into a the particulars of her career right now.

"Captain Carter was our expert on wormhole physics and anything technical. And Dr Jackson insisted on being part of the team after Apophis abducted his wife. His archaeological knowledge and language skills were very precious to us."

"What about you, Major?" Hammond asked Kawalsky.

"I headed SG-2," said Kawalsky. "Ferretti, Warren and Casey were under my command. We backed up SG-1 when they went to Chulak."

"Chulak was one of the planets ruled by Apophis," continued Walsh. "Unfortunately we were captured by Jaffa whilst we were trying to rescue Sha're and Skaara. Sha're became the Goa'uld Amaunet's host, and she and Apophis turned up to choose hosts for their 'children'."

"I'll make a wild guess here and say that if _you_ stayed on my team, Teal'c never joined the SGC?" said Colonel O'Neill, barely keeping the belligerence out of his voice.

"Teal'c...?"

"It is I to whom Colonel O'Neill is referring," said Teal'c.

She watched Teal'c for a moment, her face blank. "In my dimension, he was Apophis' First Prime. We encountered him several times in combat situations."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. Hammond noticed the look of disdain on Kawalsky's face. There was no love lost there, apparently.

"After Apophis and Amaunet had taken Skaara and a young girl for hosts, they ordered the Jaffa to kill us all. We managed to escape... and that's more or less how everything started."

"Unfortunately one of those little bastards got into my head," said Kawalsky. Everyone stared at him in disbelief. "No, really. I still have the scar." He turned to reveal extensive scarring on the back of his neck.

"That looks worse than the average Goa'uld entry scar," commented Carter.

"It's from the procedure," said Kawalsky.

"Okay, so... how did you get it out?" asked Dr Jackson.

"We had been experimenting on Goa'uld larvae, and were lucky enough to figure out a technique to reverse the blending process," said Walsh.

"How?" asked Carter excitedly.

"Now is not the time, Carter," snapped O'Neill.

Hammond had mixed feelings about this piece of news. If Walsh knew how this treatment worked, then she would be an invaluable resource to the SGC. But that meant trusting her, and that may not come readily.

"Are you saying that you can extract a Goa'uld symbiote without killing the host, Colonel?"

"It's an extremely delicate procedure, and it's not one that we've mastered yet, but I have helped perform it successfully on a few subjects. We did have losses too, our success rate is about fifty percent. It is much harder to perform on adult Goa'uld, particularly when they have spent a long time in the host's body. The Tok'ra are much more capable than us in that respect."

"So you know about the Tok'ra?" asked Hammond.

"Unfortunately," muttered Kawalsky.

"We do. Major Carter was host to a Tok'ra, Jolinar, for a few days, then Jacob Carter became host to a symbiote called Selmak. However... the relationship between the Tok'ra and the SGC has grown rather unpleasant of late."

"How so?"

"Since the beginning of our alliance, they brought a number of problems to us but often refused to help when we were in trouble. The first major fallout was when they denied any assistance when Heru'ur attacked us, a year ago." She sighed. "The Asgard finally came to our rescue, but... well, General Hammond was killed by Jaffa who infiltrated the base and tried to get information out of him."

"Who replaced me at the head of the SGC?" asked Hammond. He was slightly rattled to hear about his own death, and it seemed obvious that SG-1 had suffered the same fate.

"General Maybourne," she said with a slight grimace.

"What?" howled O'Neill, rising from his seat. "That scum-sucking weasel Harry Maybourne?!"

Hammond shot him a glare, and O'Neill settled down in his chair, scowling even deeper.

"The one and only," muttered Kawalsky. "You liked him just as much in our dimension."

"Things changed drastically after his arrival. We all considered resigning. However, we also knew that we could... ah, save the world, from time to time, and that if we didn't stay, Maybourne would probably endanger us all much more than if we remained to keep an eye on things."

"Why does that sound like an idea of mine?" said Dr Jackson, pulling a face.

"It was Daniel's idea," replied Walsh with a thin smile. "We were also made to to carry out various experiments that would be considered highly unethical. I'm speaking mostly for Major Carter, Dr Fraiser and myself."

"Such as?" prompted Hammond.

"Well... testing the various effects of naquadah in the bloodstream or trying to reproduce the healing properties of a sarcophagus... altering memory devices for various uses... maintaining symbiotes, cloning them... and his latest and stupidest idea – launching a naquadah bomb onto a planet whose core was made of similar heavy metals."

"That's the reason we fled," said Kawalsky. "The radiation from the explosion was coming through the gate, just like the black hole had. Carter had warned him about it. But... well, she wasn't there to stop him."

"What happened to SG-1?"

Walsh swallowed hard before she answered, staring at her hands rather than making eye contact with anyone at the table. "A Tok'ra named Anise asked Colonel O'Neill, Major Carter and Dr Jackson to try out devices that boosted their strength and speed to extremes. She suggested that they go and destroy Apophis' new mothership. It was a disaster..."

There was an uncomfortable silence as Walsh trailed off. Kawalsky rubbed a hand across his face, and for a moment Hammond saw how exhausted he looked.

"Dr Fraiser and I figured out that the armbands were going to fail at some point," continued Walsh. "Maybourne let me go in with a rescue team. When we got to the ship, it was about to explode. We found Dr Jackson unconscious and got him out. But Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter..."

"Apophis' First Prime caught up with them, and they didn't make it," finished Kawalsky abruptly.

Walsh stayed silent for a moment. Her hands were trembling. "That's when I was given the command of SG-1. SG-2 had also lost two men recently, so Maybourne assigned Kawalsky and Ferretti to my team. Dr Jackson remained with us."

"And what happened to him?"

"They'd made him a za'tarc. He shot the Tok'ra High Councillor and half the people in the room and then... well..." She paused again. They could all guess what had happened after that.

"Anise tested practically everyone on base with a machine she'd invented," continued Kawalsky. "Loads of us showed up as za'tarcs, even though we hadn't been anywhere near a Goa'uld or a Jaffa. We were just... lying our asses off to keep our damn jobs."

"Everyone has their secrets," said Walsh. "Anise didn't seem to have thought of that. Practically all of us had moral issues and inner conflicts concerning Maybourne's methods. Anise tried her 'healing' process on three officers. One turned out to be a za'tarc and committed suicide. The two others just wound up with brain damage."

"Yeah, Ferretti just... became a vegetable," muttered Kawalsky.

"That's when Finn joined our team."

"Yeah. Dr Fraiser resigned shortly after that. We fell out with the Tok'ra. And Maybourne started that project with the naquadah bomb."

"I see," said Hammond at last. "I understand that you people have misgivings about the za'tarc detector, but for the time being it is the best lie detector that we can find. We will question you again to make sure that you are telling us the truth."

"Fair enough, sir," said Kawalsky with a grimace.

"Colonel Walsh?"

"If you believe it necessary, sir."

"We will also need to know everything you can recall about the planet on which you arrived. The device that you used was meant to be destroyed after we had a similar encounter with... inter-dimensional travellers."

Walsh blinked, seeming curious, but didn't press the issue. "We considered destroying it, too after Dr Jackson had a strange experience in another dimension."

"But you didn't."

"No sir," said Walsh. "Daniel still had it in his office, he'd been studying it before his death. We'd learnt how to use it and we knew enough about it to decide to take our chances in another world."

"But... did you know about the risk of temporal entropic cascade failure?" said Carter.

"In theory. Carter had used it as a reason not to use the mirror. That's also why we chose a dimension where the mirror was somewhere off-world, so that we wouldn't be physically close to our inter-dimensional counterparts. We thought it may... buy us some time, I suppose."

"Bottom line was, we didn't want to die right away," explained Kawalsky flatly. "We figured that we could work something out after we arrived."

"But we were surprised by Jaffa guards and forced to dial back here," said Walsh. "If we can make a contribution to the SGC before the failure kicks in, we would be happy to do so."

O'Neill snorted with contempt. "Oh bullshit! You're just here to save your hides. That or to drive all of us nuts."

"The only one on base who's going nuts right now is you, Jack," commented Dr Jackson quietly.

"My point exactly!" cried O'Neill.

"Would you like a moment to cool off, Colonel O'Neill?" asked Hammond in a threatening tone.

"Oh, I'm fine, sir. Peachy. No problem whatsoever," he muttered sulkily.

"Good." He turned to Walsh and Kawalsky. "We'll be keeping you in isolation and under guard until the Tok'ra respond to our request for help."

"Uh... won't we be dead by then?" asked Kawalsky. "Temporal entro... thingy... failure. What Major Carter said."

"I suppose that in some ways you're lucky. The two of you are deceased in this dimension. Major Carter will be more capable than I am to predict how this will affect your health, but I take it you will be able to remain here longer than under different circumstances."

"I don't know exactly what will happen, but there are even chances that the death of the people in this dimension will allow you to stay here permanently," said Major Carter.

O'Neill rolled his eyes and mouthed "for crying out loud", shaking his head.

"We'll see about that once we manage to verify your good intentions and that the information you give us is reliable," added Hammond.

Walsh nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"Dr Jackson, Major Carter and Teal'c, would you please escort these people to Level 22. And Colonel O'Neill, I want a word with you."

"Yes, sir," said Carter, getting up and waiting for Colonel Walsh. She seemed enthused by the new arrival, as she usually was when was faced with people who could share scientific information with her. Teal'c quickly stood by Kawalsky. Dr Jackson looked at Colonel O'Neill for a long moment before standing up and following the rest of the party out of the room.

O'Neill sat there, looking somewhat subdued and very gloomy. Hammond sighed inwardly, steeling himself for a very tiresome conversation with an angry, irrational O'Neill. He needed to find out what was going on, and what O'Neill was keeping from him.


	3. Chapter 3

******Chapter 3**

Sam, Teal'c and Daniel waited in the elevator as it brought them back towards their respective labs. They'd just dropped off Major Kawalsky and Colonel Walsh, and Daniel was still trying to make sense of the whole thing. Sam was clearly doing the same, though Daniel suspected that she was wondering about the quantum physics involved more than Walsh's effect on Jack. Teal'c seemed perplexed too, if the half-frown was any indicator.

"So, what now?" said Sam.

"Well, it looks like General Hammond doesn't want to share whatever he knows about Professor Walsh. Must be classified," said Daniel. "I suppose we're just going to have to wait for the Tok'ra. Or until Jack says something, which means when hell freezes over..."

"I suppose I could try to work out how long they've got here until they start failing."

"You sure that's going to happen?"

"Nope. I have a few theories, but nothing certain. Well, for once it's not another me who came through the wormhole."

Sam said it lightly, with a chuckle, but Daniel suspected she still wasn't quite over that bizarre episode with Samantha. It was hard to be sure, with Sam. She tended to keep things bottled up and slap on a cheery face, especially where her relationship with Jack was concerned.

"Well I certainly wouldn't like to trade places with those two," said Daniel. "Imagine it: you're working for Maybourne, all your friends get killed, you get attacked by Jaffa, someone closes the iris on a team member and then Jack starts accusing you of something someone else did."

"And you didn't see his shouting match with Kawalsky in the elevator." Carter paused, thinking. "He compared Walsh to Linea and then he said something about Dr Evil. Her file didn't look that bad, did it? She was following orders."

"Yeah, I figure he knows something that we don't about her assignments," said Daniel. Suddenly, he had a brainwave. He closed the elevator doors before Sam could get out at level 19.

"Daniel?!"

"I just had an idea, come with me!" The doors opened on level 18 and he hurried towards his lab.

"Would you care to explain yourself, Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c didn't sound too happy.

"I have a friend who just happens to live in Sunnydale," said Daniel, half turning to talk to them and make sure they were following. "He's the kind of guy who's well-informed about... weird things."

"So?" asked Sam as they finally entered his office.

Daniel rifled through his stuff until he uncovered his telephone, which had been buried under parchment scrolls. "Sooo... I couldn't possibly get into trouble for calling a friend and asking a few questions, right? We might find out more about Professor Walsh."

Teal'c cocked his head. "I do not believe that O'Neill would appreciate that you carry out research on Colonel Walsh without his permission."

"I know that he won't appreciate it, Teal'c. But considering that he's gone all laconic and moody on us, I don't think that anything we can do could make him much worse. And at least then we'd understand him."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow and nodded, generally translated as "point taken".

"Who's this friend? I mean... you say he knows about weird stuff going on in Sunnydale, but how would he know about classified research?"

"Ah, yeah... Sunnydale is a... um, a very strange place, apparently. And I'm pretty sure that when you hear me say this, you're going to think that I'm ready for the nice upholstered cell again..."

"C'mon Daniel, we're not like that," said Sam with a small smile.

Daniel sat down at his desk. "Okay. I met him when I was a student and he was working in the Oxford Archaeology Library. He was very interested in the occult. One night, we were out late and... well... we met a... uh... a vampire."

Sam stared incredulously. Teal'c raised an eyebrow.

"I was told that vampires only existed in the imagination of the Tau'ri."

"Yeah, they do," said Sam. "What had you been smoking?"

Daniel pulled a sarcastic face at Sam. "I admit that we were a bit drunk. And yes, Teal'c, that's what most people will tell you, but it isn't true. Vampires are real, and I met one. I saw it, Rupert saw it, and... well... he pulled out a stake and after a struggle, he got rid of it."

"Yeaaah-huh, right. Vampire. Sure." Sam was trying not to grin.

"And what do you think the 'hostiles' that Professor Walsh was working on were, Sam? Rabid dogs? Angry chimpanzees? Racoons, maybe?"

"Vampire racoons, maybe?" said Sam teasingly. Teal'c gave a booming laugh, apparently finding the idea very amusing.

"All right, you can all get lost then. Out of my office, now," said Daniel in his best haughty voice.

"Come on, Daniel! Wouldn't we know about it, if they really existed?"

"Not if the victims didn't survive."

Sam breathed deeply. "Okay, just for the sake of argument – if vampires kill humans and breed, or propagate, or whatever it is they do, why isn't our world overrun by vampires?"

"I asked Rupert the very same question, funnily enough. He told me it was because there has always been someone to guard the earth. A girl with special powers, called the Slayer."

Teal'c frowned slightly. "I have read of such a tale in _Weekly World News_. Into each generation a young woman is born. She alone has the ability to fight vampires, demons and monsters of darkness."

He said it in such a serious tone that Sam burst out laughing. Even Daniel had trouble keeping a straight face, the line seemed to come right out of a cheesy B-movie. And why did Teal'c have to read newspapers that were made up of 90 percent garbage and 10 percent accurate information?

"The existence of vampires or demons isn't much stranger than the existence of the Goa'uld, Jaffa and Unas, you know?" said Daniel. He knew it was lost on Sam. As soon as he wanted to talk to her about the occult, she turned deaf and blind. Somehow, it seemed easier for her to believe in aliens than to believe in the supernatural. The last time they had discussed magic, they'd ended up not speaking for the best part of a week.

"All right, all right... I'm sorry..." She wasn't. She couldn't keep a grin off her face. "So one girl fights all these vampires alone?"

"She has a teacher... a mentor. They call them Watchers. That's what Rupert is, though I don't know if he's ever been in charge of a Slayer, but in any case they're very learned people and they tend to know about strange events. He told me about Sunnydale, said it was a point of convergence of mystical energies."

"I have read that too. They say that all creatures of the dark are attracted to that place."

Sam tried to keep a straight face but her lips were twitching. "Huh-uh."

Daniel sighed. Teal'c was not helping. "_Anyway_. He's there now, Professor Walsh used to be there as well, they were both academics, they might have met. And as I said, he keeps tabs on people who look like they're up to something weird."

Sam nodded. "Well... I guess it's worth a shot."

"If you make fun of me while I'm on the telephone, I'll beat you to death with the receiver," said Daniel.

"I'll be good, I promise," said Sam.

Daniel rolled his eyes. He spent the next five minutes trying to track down Rupert Giles' phone number in every nook and cranny of his office, before remembering that he'd spent an afternoon of procrastination transferring various addresses and numbers onto his computer. All the while, Sam was muttering to herself with the occasional snicker, and Teal'c looked confused, which wasn't surprising, considering that everyone had been telling him that everything in _Weekly World News_ was bullshit. At last, Daniel got hold of the number and dialled.

He swallowed nervously. Rupert had last contacted him for an emergency about an ancient obelisk with a variation of Sumerian engraved on it, asking him to proof-read his translation. It had been about a demon – Akasha? No, that sounded wrong – that was meant to swallow the world and make it into living hell. Apparently, the world was pretty much still there, so either the obelisk didn't work or Rupert had helped saved the world. However, Daniel hadn't had any news since.

The phone rang twice before Daniel heard a distinctly British "hello?".

"Um, hi. Is this Mr Giles?"

"It is. To whom am I speaking?"

"Er, hi Rupert, it's Daniel. Daniel Jackson."

"Daniel? I didn't expect to hear from you." But Rupert actually sounded happy. That was quite rare, when Daniel spoke to fellow archaeology buffs. "How are you?"

"Pretty good. You?"

"Oh, well... all right, actually, despite impending doom at least once a week and people pilfering food from my fridge." There was a clinking noise in the background, and a derisive snort, probably from one of the fridge-pillagers. "I'm sorry that I never called back to thank you after you helped me with Acathla. I meant to, but there was a lot happening."

"What, you broke all your fingers and couldn't hold a phone?"

There was a pause. "As a matter of fact, someone broke them for me. And my Slayer left town for three months after that."

Oh, shit. "Ah... Rupert... sorry. That was a stupid thing to say."

"Don't worry. I spend a lot of time around brash Americans, I've grown accustomed to your strange habits."

"Yes, well, we don't get taught how to get our upper lips stiffened and become all snotty over here, sorry," replied Daniel with a grin.

Rupert chuckled. "I don't suppose that you're calling me for small talk, are you?"

"Ah, busted. Yeah, I'm calling for a favour, actually."

"Yes?"

"I'm looking for some information. Do you know a Professor Margaret Walsh?"

"MAGGIE WALSH?" Daniel quickly moved receiver away from his ear as his friend's indignant voice boomed out of it. Sam and Teal'c both heard the exclamation too.

"Yeah, that would be her. I think she taught Psychology at Sunnydale University and... well, I'd just like to know if you know anything else about her."

"Unfortunately," said Rupert. "Are you sure you want to waste a perfectly good telephone bill on her?"

Daniel grinned. "Let's just say that the taxpayers will be picking up the tab for this one."

"I see... you never told me what you were doing in Colorado Springs, by the by."

"Paperwork, mostly," said Daniel. It wasn't a complete lie. Mission reports took up much more time than people would think.

"All right, all right, keep your secrets, then. I'll tell you about Walsh." He sighed. "It all started last September. My Slayer, Buffy..."

"Buffy?" Daniel repeated, trying not to laugh.

"Yes, I'm aware of how it sounds. She's an admirable Slayer, though, so don't you say another word." Rupert's tone clearly suggested that nobody was allowed to make fun of her except him.

"Okay, I'm not saying anything. Buffy the Vampire Slayer it is."

Sam raised her eyebrows incredulously. Daniel had to agree that it sounded pretty ridiculous.

"Anyway, Buffy had just started college and was taking psychology with Professor Walsh. And that... that... woman... had quite a lot of... of influence over her students. Buffy was fascinated by her class. I suppose she was doing her job rather well. At least, her day job."

"So what was the catch?"

"She led a secret operation. I'm not sure if it was the military or some other branch of the government, but she had a group of young soldiers, all trained to fight vampires and demons. I suppose that wasn't so bad, except that this Walsh woman was using them as guinea pigs."

"What kind of experiments did she do?"

"Well, she pumped the boys with various chemicals that made them stronger. Once they stopped the treatment, they all went through severe withdrawal. She put chips into the heads of certain creatures, including a vampire who has now become a public nuisance."

"Oh...? Why don't you just... er... stake him?"

"Well, I suppose it would be like shooting a caged animal." There was an indistinct exclamation in the background, and Rupert muttered something at the other person in the room, before continuing. "He can't hurt humans, you see. The chip in his brain causes him to get a violent headache as soon as he tries. And sometimes he helps, gives us information and such."

"I see. So Professor Walsh devised this chip to incapacitate vampires and demons. What about humans?"

"Oh she implanted some of her men with various chips, too, so that she could control them. I'm sure the military would just love to have soldiers that would _always_ obey orders, wouldn't they?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess. But... um... from all I've heard so far, you haven't really told me anything that would justify the way you howled her name earlier on. I mean I get that she was doing questionable research, but it's not much worse than..." Than other things the NID had done. Oops. "Well it doesn't sound downright evil."

"I admit that I... had issues with her because she was becoming a-a... mentor to my Slayer and she was a... well, a shrew. When she found out about Buffy being the Slayer she tried to enrol her into her little operation. Only, Buffy isn't the type to follow orders. She asks questions. I suppose that she asked too many questions, because Walsh tried to get her killed."

"What?"

"She sent Buffy into an ambush - alone, with a dodgy weapon and locked in with two heavyweight demons with axes. Obviously, Buffy made quick work of them. And when she tried to return to find out what Walsh was playing at, we found out that she'd been killed."

"How come?"

"She'd been working on a project called 314. Basically, it was a Frankenstein's monster with an uranium power core and a computer instead of a brain, I believe. It had been made from some of the deadliest bits of demon Walsh had found, but she hadn't counted on it turning on her. It skewered her with a sort of a... uh... a sharp retractable bone in its arm."

"Ouch."

"I suppose so, yes. It went on a killing spree and tried to start a war between demons and humans, in order to use the corpses to create more hybrid creatures like him. We finally managed to stop him this summer. The authorities covered everything up and closed down their little underground base after that."

"That sounds like quite a story."

Rupert chuckled. "Actually, in my four years in Sunnydale, I've seen worse."

"Wow... exciting life for a librarian."

"I'm not a librarian anymore. Haven't been since we blew up the school."

"Since you did what?"

"Get outta the way, airman!" Jack's loud voice suddenly echoed in the corridor.

"Oops, I've got to go," said Daniel. "Nice talking to you."

"Did I hear 'airman'? Daniel, wherever are you calling from?"

"You better be, you nearly walked right into me! Now scram!"

Daniel rolled his eyes. Jack in full hardass officer mode. And he could hear footsteps coming towards his office.

"I'll call you back. Thanks for the info. Bye Rupert!" Daniel slammed the phone down just as Jack walked in.

"So, whatcha all doing in here?" asked Jack, coming in as if he owned the place.

"Talking," said Daniel.

"Yeah? What about?"

"Quantum physics, sir," said Sam quickly. "I was trying to explain what happens to human cells when temporal entropic cascade failure occurs."

Usually, that kind of line worked every time to send Jack packing. This time, however, he ignored the geek-talk, as he liked to call it.

"Did you figure if and when it's going to happen to Walsh and Kawalsky, yet?" he asked. Anyone would have expected him to rejoice at the prospect of Walsh dying, considering his hostility... but no. His face betrayed nothing. Strange.

"Well... I can't tell, sir. I guess that if these people stay here on a long-term basis, we'll find out at some point. It's subject to debate within the highest authorities in physics."

"Huh. Okay. I'll leave you to it. Teal'c, are you up for some sparring?"

Teal'c seemed reluctant. He obviously didn't like to spar when Jack was in a bad mood and acting like a jerk. Daniel imagined it would be hard to resist punching him in the face.

"I do not think it wise to spar so late in the day. It makes it harder for me to _kel'no'reem_."

"But if you like we could go to the mess and talk..." said Daniel.

"No, I'm not hungry. Guess I'll just go home."

And he was off. Daniel watched him go, wondering what Hammond had said to him. Probably that he'd better be good, which was something Jack was barely able to do under normal circumstances.

"Well, what did your friend have to say about Professor Walsh?" asked Sam.

Daniel recounted Rupert's story to the others. Sam still seemed very sceptical and Teal'c confused, but they had to agree that the information tied in perfectly with what Hammond had let them knew about Walsh.

"So basically, she was some kind of... misguided genius?" concluded Sam.

"Looks that way. And obviously General Hammond couldn't tell us about the existence of the demons and vampires who were being used as guinea pigs, or about the creature she made."

"But how would Colonel O'Neill know about any of that? Besides, she died last February, and at that time, he was still stranded on Edora. There's no way he could have known."

"He might have been keeping tabs on Walsh?" suggested Daniel.

"Perhaps, but I don't see why." She sighed. "It just doesn't make sense to me."

"Me neither."

Teal'c made no answer, which meant that either he had no idea, or he was unwilling to share his thoughts. His expression was forbidding as ever. Daniel sighed, resigned to go and speak with Jack sometime, when he'd cooled off.


	4. Chapter 4

******Chapter 4**

General Hammond was pleasantly surprised when the computer recognised the Tok'ra's IDC. He'd sent the message asking them to come with a za'tarc detector only 48 hours ago, and they'd promptly replied that they were sending someone ASAP. Perhaps the fact that Walsh claimed to know how to remove symbiotes from hosts whilst keeping the latter alive may have provided some incentive for them to move faster. A human with such knowledge was certainly a curiosity – or perhaps a threat – to them.

It wasn't too soon, either. Colonel O'Neill had been irritable, fidgety and, generally, a major pain in the backside ever since Walsh's arrival. Hammond had tried in vain to get O'Neill to tell him exactly what the matter was, but he was proving extremely uncooperative. Though he remained generally civil towards the refugees, his silence was charged with anger and frustration. All Hammond had managed to get out of him was that he was sure she was unpredictable, possibly a psychopath and that they'd regret taking her in.

That may well have been true for Professor Walsh, although the Pentagon refused to give him a straight answer about her mental state before she was killed by her creation. She was presented as a genius who had got carried away by her art, which didn't actually mean much in psychiatric terms. It certainly didn't give them a hint as to whether Colonel Walsh had a congenital tendency to mental instability.

Dr MacKenzie had done a full psychological evaluation of their refugees. According to him, Walsh was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, which didn't surprise Hammond one bit given the story she'd told them. He had prescribed a course of mild sedatives, and believed that it would improve with time. If that was the extent of her mental health problems, Walsh was no worse off than most people in the facility.

Hammond had also been through Professor Walsh's records, and he'd found out that there had been a few heated arguments with Colonel O'Neill. As far as he could tell, they'd been working under General West's command since the early 90ies, more or less from O'Neill's return from Iraq. One of the altercations with O'Neill had been her refusal to clear him for his mission to Abydos – she'd done his psych evaluation and considered him unfit for field work given his unstable state of mind. But of course, since the Abydos mission was supposed to be a suicide mission anyhow, General West had got O'Neill cleared by someone else.

That still didn't explain why O'Neill considered her a psychopath. On the contrary, the fact that she'd tried to prevent him from going on a suicide mission showed some professional integrity. Then again, O'Neill wasn't necessarily very objective when he held a grudge. Perhaps he knew about some of her more unethical and bizarre experiments. He'd certainly dropped a hint about the Frankenstein monster, which suggested that he'd kept tabs on her after she left for California.

For the time being, Hammond concentrated on the task at hand. He arrived into the gate room to greet the Tok'ra, just as they emerged through the gate. Anise had come, accompanied by Jacob Carter, and another Tok'ra who was carrying the device.

"Welcome to the SGC," said Hammond with a brief smile.

"Hi George," said Jacob, friendly as ever.

"We were very intrigued by your message, General," said Anise, cutting the small talk and striding towards him. Once more she was wearing an outfit that bordered on the indecent. It was an all leather catsuit that revealed her midriff and pushed her breasts up to create a deep cleavage.

"Please follow me," he said, leading the way. "At present, Colonel Walsh and Major Kawalsky are being kept in guarded guest quarters."

"So, let's see if I got this right," said Jacob. "These people turn up from another planet, after having used the quantum mirror that was supposed to be destroyed. And one of them claims to be able to know how to remove symbiotes without damaging the host."

"That's right. Their DNAs match those of people who worked here at some point. Kawalsky was part of the SGC and Professor Walsh worked in Cheyenne Mountain before the Stargate project, then with the NID. They both claim to be part of SG-1, and have extensive knowledge pertaining to the Stargate project and the missions of both SG-1 and SG-2."

They entered the elevator that was bringing them to the laboratory on level 19, where he'd ordered Walsh to be taken. Kawalsky would be interrogated later.

"And they're still alive?" said Anise. "Surely, the coexistence of two identical beings in the same dimension would cause one of them to disintegrate after a relatively short period of time."

"According to Major Carter, they haven't suffered any ill effects of the inter-dimensional travel because their counterparts from this dimension are deceased."

Anise cocked her head to one side and seemed to ponder this at length.

"I heard about the two Sams," said Jacob. "It took you less than a few hours to convince the President to grant the other Sam full access to the facility. Has he suddenly changed his mind about your hosting inter-dimensional refugees?"

"Probably not where it concerns Kawalsky. But the mention of Walsh did cause some waves at the Pentagon."

"Why's that?"

"Let's just say that our dimension's Professor Walsh had a rather twisted project going. She was trying to improve the performance of soldiers by all means possible, and create the perfect soldier. It backfired, and she was killed in the process."

"The good old crazy scientist routine," muttered Jacob, shooting a glance at Anise. Hammond had to admit that he'd noticed the resemblance too. She was oblivious, lost in her own thoughts.

"I do not understand," said Anise finally. "Both these humans are from an alternate dimension. They may be genetically identical to those who once lived here, but how might you judge one as safe, whilst saying that the other is a threat, when you do not know whether either of them is trustworthy?"

"Major Kawalsky was a trustworthy member of the SGC. On the other hand, Professor Walsh conducted experiments that ultimately caused the death of many soldiers and several civilians. We believe she may have suffered from a mental disorder which caused her to take unnecessary risks and make unethical decisions."

"Would this inclination to mental illness be inscribed in her genetic material?" asked Anise.

"Possibly," said Hammond. "That's what we want to find out. While she may turn out to be a great help to us, we want to be certain that this Walsh doesn't share similar problems with her alter ego before we grant her access to anything sensitive."

"I would have thought it logical that both travellers would be given the same treatment," said Anise. "They are, after all, both complete strangers to you."

"Yes, they are. Which is why we're going to interrogate them both extensively," answered Hammond, slightly irritated by Anise's questioning by now. "I was asked to have them carefully checked out before granting them access to the base or assigning them any jobs. We want to be certain that their story can be verified, that they're not za'tarcs, and that their loyalties truly lie with the SGC."

"The za'tarc detector also functions as a lie detector," said Jacob. "Actually, it beats any human-made lie detectors by light-years."

"I thought so," replied Hammond. "I hope that you are prepared for a long interrogation, we'll have to review about five years of these people's lives in minute detail."

They arrived in one of the laboratories. Dr Fraiser was in the control room, tinkering with monitors, with Dr Jackson and Major Carter talking to her. Teal'c and Colonel O'Neill were standing on either side of Colonel Walsh, who'd already been strapped to the seat. O'Neill still looked furious, but his expression softened a little when he saw Jacob and Anise arrive. The Tok'ra who was carrying the device put it down on the table opposite Walsh and started setting it up.

"Hey," said O'Neill. "Is that a za'tarc detector that you've brought us?"

"It is indeed," replied Anise with a smile. "I thought that you disliked the device, Colonel?"

"Oh, you know. Only when it's used on me." He cast a glance at Walsh. "Some people deserve that kind of torture."

"Colonel," snapped Hammond. Walsh was resolutely staring straight ahead, as if to avoid looking at anyone.

"I do not understand," said Anise, raising an eyebrow. "The za'tarc detector is a means of detecting deception. I do not believe it to be a torture device, as long as one is truthful."

O'Neill didn't say anything, but Hammond could see that Walsh's jaw was clenched and her knuckles were turning white from gripping the armrests. This certainly wouldn't be pleasant for her, especially after her experience with the detector, but she would have to bear it.

"The device has been set up," said the third Tok'ra.

Hammond nodded. "Then let's start the procedure. This could take a long time, people."

"Yes, sir." O'Neill took a few steps back and aimed a zat gun at Walsh, whilst Anise placed the memory device on her temple. Walsh winced and shuddered visibly as the memory device locked into place. She must have been very sensitive, most people hardly blinked.

"General, I know how this procedure goes," said Walsh suddenly. "I am fairly sure that I will have to divulge a large amount of personal information for the detector to clear me. I would like to ask you to keep this interview as private as possible."

Hammond glanced at O'Neill, who looked as if his trigger finger was itching. He couldn't really deny Walsh some privacy, and he had a feeling that if she had anything bad to say about O'Neill – hers or theirs – things could only get worse between them.

"All right. Colonel O'Neill, Teal'c, you're dismissed. Jacob, would you please keep a zat gun handy in case she proves to be a za'tarc and gets triggered."

"Sure," said Jacob, holding out his hand for O'Neill's weapon; O'Neill relinquished it with a grunt. "Marnon, will you give me a hand?"

The other Tok'ra nodded. Teal'c handed him his zat gun as he exited, and O'Neill followed reluctantly. Anise sat down behind the za'tarc detector, facing Walsh.

"Dr Fraiser will remain to monitor your physical condition, and I will lead the interrogation from the control room," said Hammond. "The entire conversation will be recorded on video tape and parts of it may be shown to relevant people."

"I understand. And thank you," said Walsh. Hammond nodded and exited the laboratory, closing the door behind him. SG-1 was still hanging around in the corridor. He stopped by O'Neill.

"In no event are you to listen in on our conversation. That's an order, and it goes for all of you. I expect you to respect this woman's privacy, and all of you who have been submitted to za'tarc interrogation should know why."

"Yessir," O'Neill muttered, clearly made a little uneasy by the hint that Hammond had dropped. Good.

Hammond settled down in the control room. Walsh sat very literally at their mercy, rigid and pale, looking straight at him with narrowed eyes.

"Please look at the device, Colonel Walsh," said Anise.

Walsh complied. Beams of light scanned her eye and information popped up on Anise's monitors. The video technician focused the camera to have a shot of Walsh as well as the detector's monitor.

"Right," said Hammond into the microphone. "Let's start from the top."

* * *

O'Neill paced the corridor nervously. He really longed to to know what was going on in there, the frustration was driving him crazy. It had been two hours now. General Hammond had said that it could be long, but this was becoming ridiculous.

The others were hanging around with him in shifts. Sometimes they'd slip away to do something, but they'd always return after a while. At the moment, Daniel and Carter were there. Somehow he suspected they were there to stage an impromptu intervention if he started going off the rails.

"Well, they're certainly taking their time," said Daniel. No shit. It had already been three hours.

"Probably trying to untangle the web of lies she's been trying to feed them."

"Sir... what makes you believe that she's lying?" asked Carter.

"C'mon Carter. She was in Special Ops and she's a shrink. Lying is her job."

"Well you were in Special Ops, what does that say about you?" said Daniel.

O'Neill shot him a sidelong look. "She's the one who's meant to be getting interrogated, not me."

"Yeah, well we're just worried."

He so didn't need this right now. Daniel picking a fight was fine with him, but that compassionate and caring tone... he really didn't want to hear it. It was hard enough keeping it together without Daniel trying to help him, or whatever this was.

"I'm _fine_, all right?"

"No you're not! You're acting like an ass. We can hardly speak to you. I've seen you act more maturely when you turned into a caveman!"

O'Neill glowered at Daniel, trying not to rise to the bait. It was none of their damn business.

"Fine, then, don't say anything! Just keep in mind that you're being a total dick to someone you don't know much about. Someone who could help us, too!"

"I know her!"

"You do not! You know _a_ Walsh. You have no idea how much of this woman's life is similar or different from the person you knew. We'll only know that after they've finished the interrogations."

"Whatever."

There was a leaden silence. Daniel and Carter were shooting glances at each other. O'Neill sighed inwardly. With any luck, they'd just take her far, far away from the SGC, out of their lives. If she stayed... it was going to be impossible.

Everyone started when the control room's door opened and Dr Fraiser hurried out. She was carrying a cup of water in one hand and a syringe in the other. She didn't say a word, but O'Neill caught a glimpse of Walsh as Fraiser entered the lab.

"What do you think that was about?" asked Daniel.

"Walsh looked like shit," said O'Neill. She did too. Ashen, sweating, exhausted. He hardly recognised her. Maybe Daniel had a point. Maybe she was different. It didn't change how he felt, though. And even if she really was weak, who knew how she'd behave once she recovered?

"Wouldn't we all, if we'd been asked about our personal lives in the minutest details for several hours?" said Carter. "It was tiring enough going over one mission with that detector. They're asking her about the last five years or so."

Dr Fraiser came out, closed the door, and stood there frowning as if she were deep in thought. She seemed oblivious to everyone watching her expectantly.

"Soooo...?" said O'Neill.

She snapped back to attention. "Colonel?"

"What's with the syringe? Was she... doing the cascade failure thingy?"

"I think I need to remind you about Hippocrates' Oath, sir."

"Hippowhat?"

"Doctor-patient confidentiality," translated Daniel.

O'Neill sighed and rolled his eyes. "Is she a za'tarc?"

"We haven't found anything to suggest it so far."

"So what's going on in there?"

"Remember that privacy she asked for, sir? I'm meant to respect that," said Dr Fraiser, making her way towards the control room.

"C'mon, Doc," O'Neill called after her. "Just tell us if she's evil!"

Dr Fraiser turned and looked at him for a moment. "From what I gather, Colonel, she's no more evil than you and I."

With that, she returned to the control room, leaving O'Neill even more frustrated than before.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note:** this note is for people who subscribed before 2013. I'm in the process of posting more of this story and of updating all the old chapters. Because of this, chapter 4 has now become chapter 4 and 5. So this chapter is not exactly new material, but everything is updated/edited/etc. New material starts at chapter 6. Happy reading!

* * *

**Chapter 5**

"Thank you, I think that's all we need to know for now, Colonel," said Hammond finally.

Walsh took a deep breath. She'd managed to keep herself together, that was the main thing. She heard the zat guns being closed and put aside; Jacob released her head, then her wrists and ankles. She ached, from the smallest joints in her fingers to her pounding head. What was she doing here? Surely, death by irradiation would have been less painful, or at least a lot faster. Then she remembered for whom she'd done this. He wasn't even there anymore. Pathetic.

"Are you going to be all right, Colonel?" asked Jacob.

"Do I have a choice?" she replied, slowly rising to her feet. The room shifted around her, shook under her feet, the neon lamps brightening and dimming in turn. Even Janet's jab had only partially soothed her. Something was wrong, and she didn't know what it was. Perhaps this was how temporal failure set in.

"We'll have you escorted back to your quarters," said Hammond, who joined her in the laboratory, accompanied by Janet. Walsh nodded. All she wanted now was to lie down.

Anise stood up and stared at her with her typically candid and neutral expression. "I hope that you will soon feel able to share any information that you may think useful to us, and that your feelings towards the Tok'ra will change in the future." She'd spoken as Freya, of course. The softness of her voice was infuriating.

Walsh snorted quietly, wondering what they'd do with her after she'd given out all the useful information she had. Maybe they'd give her a nice padded cell. Keep her in isolation – nice euphemism to describe a prison – indefinitely. Perhaps even send her to the Pentagon, for more tests, probing and pumping. That was, if she survived long enough.

"With all due respect, this isn't the time or place," said Hammond in his best benevolent yet patronising tone. "Let the lady get some rest."

Walsh fought against the wave of warmth that kept threatening to take over her every time she was faced with the so very familiar responses of those that she'd once known. This wasn't her world. It wasn't her General Hammond, her Janet, her SG-1. She couldn't delude herself. It would only hurt more when harsh reality slapped her in the face.

Anise, Jacob and Marnon were told to remain in the laboratory's vicinity, and Walsh followed Hammond out into the corridor. O'Neill and the Jaffa were still hanging around. If O'Neill's gaze could kill, it would solve a lot of her problems.

"Teal'c, will you please accompany Colonel Walsh back to her quarters and bring Major Kawalsky down here," asked Hammond. The Jaffa nodded.

"With your permission, sir, I would like to accompany Colonel Walsh and keep an eye on her," said Janet. "She doesn't look too good."

Walsh hadn't expected anything less from her. She wished that Janet would just leave her be. And now she knew a massive quantity of personal, embarrassing information; Walsh didn't want to have to discuss it ever again. She hadn't wanted to reveal it in the first place.

She followed the Jaffa – it was surrealistic to see him as an ally – and Janet towards the elevator, all the while feeling O'Neill's eyes on her. She wondered what the Walsh from this dimension had done to deserve his contempt and distrust. The question had plagued her ever since her arrival. But now she felt too tired to dwell on it.

Teal'c and Janet remained silent as the elevator brought her closer to her room. Walsh breathed as deeply as she could, trying to remain focused. The Jaffa glanced at her.

"Are you feeling unwell, Colonel Walsh?" he asked.

"I'll be fine."

"You've been through a lot. I still have half a mind to bring you to the infirmary," said Janet.

Walsh shook her head. She couldn't go there, not where everyone could see her. It wouldn't be long now until she broke down, and she didn't want to be seen.

"It isn't necessary. I'm not ill, just tired. I just need to regroup." She knew that she sounded unconvincing. Her voice kept faltering, tremors visibly shook her body and, unless she concentrated, her breath came in shallow gasps.

Janet cast a glance at the Jaffa and said nothing more. They escorted her back to her room and Janet opened up for her. Walsh refrained from making a beeline for her bed. They were still watching her.

"I'll take this from here, Teal'c, thank you," said Janet. The Jaffa nodded majestically and swept out of the room.

Walsh cautiously went to sit on the bed. "You don't want to leave me on my own, do you?"

"Spot on, lady," replied Janet. She picked up the room's phone and dialled a number. Walsh vaguely heard her letting Hammond know she'd be a while. She saw Kawalsky following the Jaffa through the open door. He smiled at her briefly as he passed by. Walsh remained immobile. She felt as if any movement, any word, any expression would just make her shatter.

"So," said Janet, closing the door behind her. "When was the last time you ate something?"

That did it. Janet's typical bedside manner... memories flooded back. She heard her own Janet scolding Jack for having waited too long before dressing a particularly nasty cut; she saw her worrying about Daniel going completely psychotic and Carter getting electrocuted once too many; she could nearly feel Janet's gentle touch, when she'd held her as she sat numbly on the infirmary ground in front of that lifeless body...

Walsh slowly realised that Janet _was_ holding her firmly, and that she was crying. She tried to calm herself, but that made things worse, turning the tears to sobs. She was so tired of holding it all in. In the last four hours, she'd used euphemisms to hide earth-shattering emotions and glossed over excruciating events as if they hardly concerned her... no wonder she couldn't control the tears anymore.

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to push Fraiser away. It wasn't right to be breaking down in front of her.

"What for?"

"I'm a complete stranger to you, it's not your place..."

"Oh, don't give me that. You're my patient. And I just spent four hours listening to your life story. I think that entitles me to coddle you a bit."

Walsh sniffed, drying her face as best she could.

"And now we're going to get you to eat something, all right?"

There wasn't much point in trying to resist Janet. Perhaps Walsh could allow herself to accept just a little comfort.

* * *

Hammond hung up the red telephone and stared thoughtfully at the video tapes: two full interrogations, seven hours of questioning; exhausting work for everyone involved. Kawalsky's interrogation had been easier than Walsh's, if only because he seemed less tense and, perhaps, had less ambiguous thoughts and feelings about his past. Hammond was still mulling over Walsh's revelations, but now that he'd received his orders, he just had to deal with it.

Someone tapped at his door, and he told them to enter.

"Sir?" It was Dr Fraiser, standing at attention.

"At ease, doctor," he said. "I've just come off the phone with the President. He's encouraged me to try to integrate Walsh and Kawalsky to the base's staff."

"From what I've seen this afternoon, it sounds like a good idea, sir. We could really do with someone who knows as much as Colonel Walsh does about symbiote biology."

"I know, Doctor. And both of them have knowledge of planets that we haven't yet visited, we could certainly do with their advice for upcoming missions."

"Sir, with all due respect... why are you telling _me_ about this?"

"Well, doctor, quite frankly I'm having difficulty believing her, especially with the detector not being able to clear her entirely. What's your take on it?"

"From what I could tell, sir, she was putting on a front. She broke down when we got to her room. I think that she needs to rest, right now. And maybe some kind of therapy."

"But you believe her?"

"I think that if she'd wanted to make up a lie, she could have chosen something less... embarrassing, sir."

Doctor Fraiser did have a point, there. "Still, her relationship with SG-1 could be a problem for them all. She's grieving for them and she's hostile to Teal'c. As for Colonel O'Neill..." He rubbed his forehead. It really complicated everything.

"Does he know that she'll be staying?"

"Oh yeah. He all but stormed out of my office. I'm this close to losing my temper with him."

Dr Fraiser was thoughtful for a moment. "Perhaps Dr MacKenzie could help them sort out the problem together?"

"Joint counselling with Colonel O'Neill?" Hammond scoffed.

"We don't have many other options, sir, if they're going to collaborate."

"I know," replied Hammond with a sigh. "I'll think about it, doctor. In the meantime, keep an eye on her. Linea conned us once, I don't want it to happen again."

"Of course, sir," said Fraiser with a small smile.

"All right. Dismissed, doctor."

She exited quietly. Hammond sighed and inserted one of the tapes into a video machine and fast-forwarded until he got to the part he wanted to see, about Walsh's mental health.

"To your knowledge, what is your current state of mental health?" said his voice in the background. Walsh gave a dry, humourless laugh.

"I'm not sure whether it's grief or more than that, but I'm severely depressed right now."

"When did that start?" asked Dr Fraiser over the microphone.

"After I lost my teammates. That was about three months ago."

"Have you suffered from major depressive disorder or major depressive episodes in the past?" asked Fraiser.

"No."

"What are your symptoms?" asked Anise. There was a pause.

"Feeling numb. Anxiety. Fatigue. Insomnia. Lack of appetite. Inability to feel pleasure. Difficulty concentrating."

Walsh said it so clinically, as if she'd been looking at herself from the outside. It was one of the reasons Hammond had trouble feeling sympathetic. She was, for lack of a better word, creepy. She seemed to want to keep everything under control. It wasn't that uncommon in people involved in Special Ops, but to this extent... it didn't seem healthy.

"Were you on any kind of treatment?" asked Dr Fraiser.

"I was prescribed an SSRI."

"Excuse me, what is that?" asked Anise.

"A selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor," replied Walsh, her steely expression showing that she knew very well that Anise wouldn't understand that answer any better.

"It's an antidepressant," explained Dr Fraiser. "It helps with this kind of condition. What were you prescribed?"

"20 milligrams of paroxetine per day."

Fraiser was heard flipping through medical files. "I see that Dr Mackenzie prescribed a benzodiazepine instead." She paused for a moment. "Have you ever suffered from any psychotic symptoms, during your treatment or otherwise?"

"Not that I'm aware of," replied Walsh. The blue ring on the detector glowed orange.

"Are you certain?" asked Anise.

Walsh sighed. "I have suffered from psychotic symptoms when Ma'chello's bugs got under my skin or when Urgo was implanted in our heads, for example. There was always a physiological cause to the hallucinations and delusions, and the symptoms ceased when the cause was removed."

Apparently that satisfied the machine. Hammond was still sceptical, but they could only wait and see. It was true that some shell-shocked people reacted like this; it would be unfair to presume that this Walsh was unstable because her alter ego had been very... misguided, as the Pentagon put it. However, there was also the slight diplomatic problem with the Tok'ra. He pressed the fast-forward button until he got to that memorable discussion.

"What are your feelings towards the Tok'ra?" asked Anise, after having asked her about her feelings towards the Asgard, which had proven quite positive, and the Tollan, which showed mild distrust.

"The Tok'ra have proved to be a clever ally," she simply answered, her face neutral as ever.

"Could you please tell me more?" asked Anise.

"I don't have a problem with them having a symbiote and I believe that their cause is just. We have the same goals."

Hammond had known from the sharp tone of her voice that there was a "but" coming up and that it was going to be ugly. The monitor was glowing red.

"You are still keeping something from us, are you not, Colonel Walsh?" said Anise in an extremely haughtily.

Walsh's eyes fixed the za'tarc detector icily. "Yes. I believe that it is in the best interest for the diplomatic relationship of the SGC and the Tok'ra that I keep my personal opinion of the Tok'ra to myself."

"How are we to know that you are not a za'tarc, if you do not tell us everything?" replied Anise. Clearly, animosity had developed between the two of them during the interview, and it wasn't about to get any better.

"Colonel, I think that you can speak freely," said Jacob, who was standing next to her. "Surely, your personal opinion won't affect our relationship with the SGC."

Walsh had looked up at Hammond, her eyes clearly asking for some kind of consent. Hammond had nodded at her. After all, Anise was right: she could have been hiding something important.

"Very well. Apart from a few of them, I have very little patience for the Tok'ra. I was curious about their abilities and technology at first, and was willing to share my inferior–" she said the word venomously "–understanding of symbiote biology. But on several occasions we were sent on missions without knowing the full details, and I resent this unwillingness to share information."

She stopped, and took a deep breath. That was the first time in three hours that she'd become so worked up. She was still pale as ever.

"The detector indicates that you are still not telling the complete truth," said Anise.

Hammond could see Walsh's jaw tensing as she ground her teeth. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, as if to calm herself.

"You must make eye contact with the device, Colonel Walsh," said Anise coolly.

Walsh opened her eyes again and stared in Anise's direction.

"I have a personal grudge against Anise. Other than the fact that I have serious doubts about the efficiency of the devices she invents or discovers, I hold her personally responsible for the death of my teammates. She withheld vital information about the armbands and had a secret agenda which led the rest of SG-1 to their death. In my opinion she embodies both the careless, amoral scientist and the inhumane Goa'uld that we sometimes glimpse when dealing with the Tok'ra."

There was a deadly silence in the room. Anise stood up and turned away from Walsh, clearly upset. Jacob was staring at the ground; Hammond couldn't tell if he'd been trying to refrain from shooting Walsh, or if he'd been snickering. He'd found out later that it had been the latter, fortunately. It was hard for Hammond not to agree with Walsh, though he would have rather not voiced those concerns to the Tok'ra's face.

That was when Walsh had suffered from a violent migraine. Anise had just recovered from the shock of being so deeply insulted, and had confirmed that the detector now read clear. But Dr Fraiser had noticed that Walsh was practically rocking on her seat, eyes half-shut.

"You okay in there, Colonel?" she asked.

"Damn migraine," Walsh muttered.

She was ashen and clammy. That was when Dr Fraiser had gone out to give her a shot of something or other and had muttered about keeping her patients strapped in chairs for so long. Walsh had got over it slowly, and been able to resume the questioning. In those four hours, it had been the only moment where she'd showed any kind of vulnerability, any sign that her words weren't devoid of all meaning.

Hammond sighed and rubbed his forehead. Dr Fraiser was right, the help of a specialist seemed like a good idea, for Walsh's sanity or lack thereof as well as to sort out whatever was going on with Colonel O'Neill.

Of course, there was the slight problem of O'Neill disliking Dr MacKenzie but then, O'Neill didn't enjoy medical interference of any kind. Walsh had also seemed very haughty when she'd spoken of MacKenzie, implying that he was incompetent. In fact, one thing that had clearly transpired from getting go know Walsh better was that she was a smartass who thought that she knew better than anybody else, very much like Colonel O'Neill. Well, they would both have to swallow some of that pride, and cooperate.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

O'Neill sat in the office with his eyes resolutely fixed straight ahead and his jaw clamped shut. He knew that he was gripping the armrest too hard and could feel the leather squeak under his fingers. Walsh was sitting in another armchair next to him; she hadn't said a word since they'd come in.

"So," said Dr MacKenzie, obviously trying to break the leaden silence. "Does either of you know why you're here?"

"No, but next time the Air Force decides that I've done something really bad, I'd rather have a court-martial," replied O'Neill.

"Why do you believe that we're here to punish you, Jack? Are you feeling guilty about something?"

O'Neill rolled his eyes, and heard Walsh snort derisively. He knew that sound very well. He just wondered who the target of her sarcasm was.

"What's so funny, Margaret?"

O'Neill sneered. If she was like the Walsh he'd known, that was going to piss her off. There had been fireworks the time he'd tried it.

"I'm not comfortable with your calling me by my first name," said Walsh icily.

Yep, same old Walsh.

"How should I address you, then?"

"I believe Dr Walsh is still adequate. Ms Walsh if you want to feel superior."

Same attitude, too. That really bugged O'Neill. How could he consider this woman different from the Walsh he'd known, when she was so damn similar?

MacKenzie had a very bad poker face, and O'Neill could tell that Walsh's comment had irked him. When something annoyed him, he'd put on a sort of patronising smile, which was probably supposed to look friendly, but actually looked scary.

"Then would you like to tell me what you found so amusing in my previous question, Ms Walsh?"

"Let's just say that asking Colonel O'Neill Freudian questions will get you nowhere. Actually, any type of direct questioning is very unlikely to yield any results."

Damn her! What she said may be true, but she had no right to know him so well.

"How do you know that this man and the Colonel O'Neill in your dimension are the same?"

O'Neill waited for the smartass answer, thinking that watching a pair of psychiatrists rip into each other could be fun, especially if they forgot all about him in the meantime. But she didn't answer. For some reason, that question seemed to have shut her up.

"Why the silence, Ms Walsh?" said MacKenzie after a moment.

"I don't," she answered quietly.

"You don't...?"

She rolled her eyes and let out an irritated sigh. "I don't know. The only O'Neill that I do know is... was the one in my dimension. I have no idea what's going through this one's mind."

"And how does that make you feel?"

"How do you think it makes me feel?" she snapped.

"What I think isn't important, Marg- Ms Walsh."

"Well, the fact that he appears to hate me makes me feel confused and uncomfortable," she said with a kind of tone that closed up all further discussion.

MacKenzie took it as a cue to turn towards O'Neill. "Jack, I hear that you've indeed been very hostile towards Ms Walsh. Would you care to explain why?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

This was getting tedious. "Because it's none of your business, Doc."

"You do realise that being uncooperative and apparently irrational will reflect badly on your next psychological evaluation, Colonel?"

"How come she gets to be called Ms Walsh and you still can't decide if you want to call me Jack or Colonel? It's kind of confusing," replied O'Neill. He nearly expected her to laugh. She didn't, though, and for some reason, that was disappointing.

MacKenzie stared at him for a moment with his fake smile, and then turned back to Walsh. "Ms Walsh, you know I'm doing this for your own good. Repressed emotions are a burden, and I know that there is a lot that you're holding back from us."

She snorted. "Repressed emotions?"

"Yes. I'd like to see the real Ms Walsh, not the one who's hiding behind that controlled façade. Ultimately, it's unhealthy to be in denial–"

"Well, it must be. I hear that there are crocodiles at this time of the year," said O'Neill. He had no idea why that had come out. He could have just let her squirm while he lectured her. Why did he have to come and break the tension with stupid jokes?

"Crocodiles?" said MacKenzie, completely taken aback.

"It's a pun," said Walsh, in a strangely soft voice. "A play on words with the Nile, in Egypt."

Something seemed off, with her, her tone was... hollow, as if she wasn't all there. He'd never heard that from Walsh before.

"Did you and Colonel O'Neill share jokes, back in your dimension?"

"Of course we did. It was Jack's way of coping with just about anything."

Jack? Really? That felt... bizarre. Wasn't he her CO?

MacKenzie had also picked up on it. "You called your commanding officer by his first name?"

"Ah... crap."

O'Neill cast a sidelong glance at her. He hadn't noticed the slight sheen of sweat on her face before, or the way she clutched at the armrests as if she was going to fall out of he chair any minute.

"Ms Walsh, I think that your Freudian slip would be a good starting point for a conversation about your relationship with the Colonel, don't you?"

She sighed. "We were friends."

"How close friends were you, Margaret?"

O'Neill expected her to glare and spit out some venomous answer. She didn't. Her lips were clamped into a fine, white line, and she stared at the ground. It wasn't like her to be unable to talk. Maybe it was an act. Why not, after all? Walsh was devious, perhaps she was playing fragile to hide that she'd tried to kill him and take his place as SG-1's commanding officer.

"I'd be lying if I said that our relationship was purely professional. Over time, we became friends and confided in each other. SG-1 was a tight-knit team, and I sometimes called the Colonel by his first name when we were off-duty."

It was hard not to snort, but O'Neill knew that if he made a sound, he'd attract MacKenzie's attention and be in trouble. He just couldn't buy that someone who spoke so coldly and carefully could know what "confiding" and "tight-knit" really meant.

"So your relationship with the rest of SG-1 was the same as with the Colonel?"

Walsh was blinking a hell of a lot, her usual tick when something bothered her. Then her chair suddenly scraped loudly on the floor as she got out of her seat and started pacing the room.

"Oh screw this," she muttered. "I'm know what you're trying to make me say."

"Margaret..."

"Don't call me that!"

She stopped pacing and stood with her back to them, staring blankly at a bookshelf. O'Neill thought that he saw her tremble. Either she was pulling an Oscar-winning performance, or she really was stressed out.

"You're not going to leave me in peace until I say it, are you?" Her voice was hushed, it was like she was speaking to herself.

What the hell was all this? O'Neill wanted to ask them to cut the crap and just get to the point already, since they both obviously knew something he didn't. But he didn't want MacKenzie on his case, so he kept his mouth shut.

"All right, fine," she said at last, turning around, facing them again. "We occasionally had sex."

That came as a surprise. Not so much by what she'd said, but that she'd given in to MacKenzie. It hadn't taken him long to wear her down.

And now he felt MacKenzie's eyes on him. He didn't move a muscle, kept his face schooled in the most neutral expression he could. He wasn't going to give that damn shrink anything to interpret.

"With each other?" he said at last. He knew the answer, but it was a good way of buying some time.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Yes."

"And why are you telling me this?"

"Because if I don't, he probably will." She nodded towards MacKenzie, and winced slightly, as if the movement had been painful.

"I just believe that it's good to clear the air," said MacKenzie. "It seems that in both dimensions, the two of you had relationships that strongly affected you. We're here to get to the bottom of it."

"Sure, right," she muttered.

"How do you feel about what you did with your Colonel O'Neill?"

For a moment, she was immobile. Then, very slowly, she looked at MacKenzie, contempt written in every feature.

"Did you feel good about it? Guilty?" MacKenzie prompted.

"It was against the regulations, but we were both professionals," she answered at last. "As far as we could tell, it never affected the chain of command, team morale, or anything else."

"But how did you feel?"

Oh jeez, this was getting painful to watch. O'Neill hated second-hand embarrassment and he was getting it by the bucketful right now.

"What do you want me to tell you? We were friends who slept together. It was comforting," she said, louder than was necessary, her tone bordering on hysterical.

And that was the thing. She was breaking. The Walsh he knew would have fought viciously until she had the upper hand, he was sure of it. This one was giving up. God, he hated this situation. He hated the fact that this was a different Walsh. At least he thought that he had the one he knew sussed out.

"Were you in love?"

O'Neill's jaw dropped. That wasn't a word that he'd expected to hear in relation to Walsh. She flinched at the question, physically flinched. Then she screwed her eyes shut and rubbed her forehead with a long sigh.

"Why does my use of the word love disturb you, Ms Walsh?"

She made no answer. It looked as if she had no words. Actually, she looked like she was going to throw up.

"Maybe because it's a pretty big leap to say that if two officers are fraternizing, then they're in love?" said O'Neill. Damn his stupid mouth, but the tension was becoming unbearable.

"Really? It's such a great risk for one's career, though, that one would need a good reason to be doing it, don't you think, Jack?"

"Me? I don't think." He gave MacKenzie his best clueless face.

There was no way in hell he'd answer that. Sure, sleeping with colleagues was a risk for everyone's career, for their marriage, for the team. And it still happened. It had still happened to him. It was dumb, sure, but he wasn't all that shocked that an O'Neill somewhere had messed around with a teammate.

"How do you feel about his response, Ms Walsh?"

She shrugged. "Unsurprised."

"So you don't you have any reaction at all to this these revelations, Colonel?"

"Yeah, I've got a question. Did she give the same answers to the za'tarc detector?"

"I viewed the footage and she said something very similar."

"So this is the truth?"

"According to my notes, the discussion about your relationship didn't yield entirely satisfactory results. Ms Walsh suggested that the detector was perhaps not sophisticated enough to evaluate conflicting or complex emotions, something with which I'd agree, as a psychiatrist."

"So basically, she may hate my guts and be planning to kill me, for all I know."

"No, Anise asked her that and–"

"Do I look like I want to kill you?" snarled Walsh between her teeth.

They both looked at Walsh, who seemed to be swaying, face pinched and eyes narrowed in what O'Neill knew was the expression of someone in pain. She looked like death warmed up.

"Well, you sound like you do, but you look like you'd barely be able to hold a gun." This was... weird, to say the least.

"What's wrong, Ms Walsh? You seem distressed."

She gave a haughty bark of laughter. "What's wrong? Apart from the fact you pushed me to tackle a subject that I wanted to keep private? Well, I'm tired and I have a very bad headache, so if you're satisfied..."

"The hour's up, anyway. But I will be seeing you next week to discuss this more extensively. It will also give Colonel O'Neill time to take in the information."

"Swell," muttered O'Neill, standing up. "C'mon, Walsh, let's get you back to your padded cell."

Hammond had told him not to bait her, but it was irresistible. But she didn't react to his comment. She just stood still in, as if she were frozen there. O'Neill glared back at her, and motioned for her to follow him, striding to the door and opening it wide.

Behind him, he heard MacKenzie starting to scribble down notes, and he guessed that the word "uncooperative" would be used more than once. He didn't give a damn, though. There was no way he would give either of them the satisfaction.

The guard stood at attention and saluted, but O'Neill didn't really notice. Walsh was lagging behind, wavering as she walked.

"Perhaps you should go to the infirmary, Margaret..." started MacKenzie.

She shook her head and sped up. She was unsteady, like someone trying to hide that they were drunk. Before MacKenzie could say more, she closed the door behind her. O'Neill had half-expected her to slam it, but it clicked quietly into place. Something was definitely wrong with her.

* * *

Walsh had been naïve enough to believe that, after the last few months' events, nothing worse could happen to her. She'd been wrong. This was worse.

Not being stranded in a world where O'Neill apparently hated her, or being interrogated, or having lost Riley. That was just part of the streak of bad luck she seemed to be stuck in. She could have coped with all that if it hadn't been for the physical symptoms that had started plaguing her the last few days.

Her head felt like it was going to explode. It was as if it were filled with electric noise that sometimes concentrated into lightning bolts to her brain. With every step she took, she could see the room lurch and roll. Lucky she'd skipped breakfast or it would be on the floor right now. It was hard to keep up with O'Neill, but he was the only stable figure in the mess in front of her eyes.

She was terrified. She'd had panic attacks, but this was far beyond that. Something had to be wrong with her brain... vertigo, nausea, massive headaches, and now the electric shock sensations... she was too confused to figure it out, her, a damn neurologist! That terrified her. Was this how temporal failure set in? Was it damaging her brain, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of her?

The ground under her feet suddenly felt as if it moved, and she gripped the wall for support. O'Neill turned towards her. He'd been walking a few feet ahead of her, and he came back. She screwed her eyes shut to stop the awful fluctuations in the lighting and the strange movement of the corridor.

"Walsh, what the hell are you doing?"

She couldn't answer. Her throat was closed in a vice. Everything seemed to be vibrating and thudding, and yet another shock went through her brain. She pressed a hand to her forehead; it was drenched with sweat.

"Walsh, quit messing around," snapped O'Neill impatiently. "Are you sick?"

"I need to lie down," she mumbled, hating herself for saying it in front of him.

It was a miracle that he understood her and grabbed her elbow when her legs suddenly gave way right there in the damn corridor. He supported her, helped her sit on the floor. He mustn't. It was making things worse, confusing everything in her mind.

"What's going on?"

"I don't know, sir." Oh crap, had she really called him that?

"You can do better than that."

"I think the temporal failure is kicking in."

"I didn't see you do that freaky morphing thing."

"Then you tell me!"

She'd screamed. She'd actually found the strength scream at him, loud enough for him to recoil slightly. Something was bursting inside of her. She couldn't keep it in any longer, all the anger, the frustration, the grief, the humiliation...

"You fucking tell me, O'Neill! Tell me why everyone is treating me like a criminal! Tell me why I get to be interrogated again and again about my private life! Tell me why you're talking to me like I'm the worst kind of shit you've ever met! And please, _please_ tell me why it feels like my brain is rigged up to a freaking naquadah reactor, because I don't have a clue and it's driving me insane!'"

Her voice had gone into the highest pitches by the end of her outburst before cracking and dying down. There were footsteps coming towards her, probably guards checking on them. She felt something warm drip down her face – tears. Walsh closed her eyes once more and nestled against the wall, shaking uncontrollably.

She had to be rational about this. There was nothing left anymore, nothing to keep her going, no she needed to protect or care for. She should let nature take its course, just... let go, find some peace. But that damn survival instinct was still going strong.

"O-kay," said O'Neill. "This is the part where I call for a med-team." He proceeded to tell one of the guards to go get someone from the infirmary.

"I don't think they'll be able to help me. Pretty sure this is the end of the road."

He was quiet for a moment. "What was it you said about your brain being rigged to a reactor?"

"That's how it feels. Fuzzy and crackling... with the occasional surge. Hurts like hell. Can't wait for it to be over."

"Huh."

The silence was good. And he was close by. It was comforting, even if she knew that this O'Neill hated her; as long as he shut his mouth, she could pretend. And although the headache was still there, thumping away, there weren't any shocks anymore.

"You feeling achy?"

It took some time for her to understand that he was addressing her, let alone what he meant. She looked at him blankly.

"Muscle aches? The kind you get with the flu?"

"There isn't a part of my body that isn't aching, Colonel. Don't ask me why. Beats me. And I'm a doctor."

"Were you taking pills?"

She frowned, confused by his sudden interest in her health.

"Before you came here, were you on something?"

"I was taking an antidepressant."

"Of course you were."

"So what?"

He didn't answer, and the nurses showed up with a gurney at that point. She made an effort to stand, acutely feeling Jack's – _O'Neill_'s, not Jack's – on her elbow, helping her onto the gurney. One thing was sure, she'd never understand him. Perhaps this was reassuring. Some things didn't change from one dimension to another.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Daniel had just grabbed cookies and coffee when he spotted Jack in the mess. It was late. He'd planned to stay in for the night with a large stone slab from P4C-528 with inscriptions that looked very much like oghamic inscriptions. Jack usually went home at night, unless he had paperwork to finish. But he didn't look like he was doing paperwork. Actually, he was stabbing a doughnut with a straw. The typical O'Neill cry for help.

"Is it dead yet?" asked Daniel, sitting down by Jack.

Jack suddenly jerked towards him. "Huh? Who's dead?"

"Your doughnut. Looks like it's lost a lot of... jam."

"Shaddup, Daniel," muttered Jack with a slight smile in his eyes.

"Maybe Janet can patch it up."

"Huh."

"Didn't you have to see MacKenzie today..."

"Yeah." Jack jabbed the doughnut again.

"Did you manage to get him to do that freaky smile of his?"

Jack didn't take his eyes off the mutilated pastry. "Wasn't hard."

"Jack!" Daniel was getting annoyed with the monosyllable routine. Jack was clearly mulling over something important, and he wouldn't be doing it in public if he didn't somehow want help.

"Walsh told him how to do his job and forbade him to call her by her first name. Then I asked him why he was still calling me Jack and not Colonel. He did the freaky smile thing. I think we pissed him off."

"I wish I'd been there to see that," said Daniel with a smirk. He didn't like MacKenzie either, especially not after his little stay in a padded cell. He found the shrink patronising and too closed-minded to really work well in unusual situations.

"He got Walsh to talk about her feelings or whatever." Jack's voice sounded a bit hollow. Not a good sign.

"Was it bad?"

Jack sighed and rubbed his face. "I dunno."

"Well, does she hate you? Is she insane? What?"

He grunted and prodded the doughnut some more. "She's in the infirmary now."

"What?" A shudder of panic went through Daniel. Had Jack lost it and got into a fight? If he had, there would be endless trouble with Hammond, probably a court-martial, he could get suspended...

"She kinda broke down after we were with MacKenzie, made a scene." He shook his head. "Should have known better."

"What do you mean?" asked Daniel, still feeling cold sweat tingling on his spine.

"Remember how you were, after all the sarcophagus treatments? The withdrawal?"

"Yeah..." And another patented Jack O'Neill non-sequitur. He just loved changing the subject when it got uncomfortable.

"When you were pointing that gun at me, I told you that I knew what it was like. D'you remember that?"

"I do." Now he slowly started to see the link with Walsh. Had she got Jack hooked on something? It looked like she'd done that to a large number of her own recruits, after all...

"They call them happy-pills, but when you come off them, sometimes there can be hell to pay."

"What, you mean like Prozac, or...?"

"It was after Charlie died, they prescribed this antidepressant to 'stabilise' me, so that I didn't go nuts on Abydos. After a while, when I'd retired, I stopped taking it. Never liked what it did to me."

Jack was carefully avoiding eye contact as Daniel listened intently. He still wondered where Walsh came into the equation, but it had become secondary. Jack sharing anything this personal was generally a big event.

"I thought I was going to go nuts. There were these massive headaches, sweating, trembling, throwing up... It got so bad that I wanted to put a bullet through my skull. I dunno why I called her. I was confused and sick, and she was a doctor. I guess I kinda trusted her."

"Walsh?"

"Yeah. I... she was a shrink and we disagreed on most things, but... well, she wasn't so bad. She figured out what was wrong with me pretty fast and helped me through it." He stabbed the jammy mess in front of him one last time, before dropping the straw.

Daniel was at a complete loss. He thought that Jack was going to explain why he disliked Walsh so much. Instead, he was saying that he liked her, sort of.

"I'm not sure I understand where you're going with this, Jack."

"Walsh started getting the same symptoms this afternoon. Looks like she never got to look after me, in her world. She thought she was doing the temporal failure thing, but it didn't look the same as... well, anyhow, I figured out it was because of the pills she'd been on. How ironic is that?"

"It's... still very confusing," answered Daniel. "I'm sorry, Jack, I must have missed something, because last time I checked, you hated her guts. And now you're helping out with her treatment?" Just when you started to think that Jack was predictable in his own quirky way, he pulled something like this.

"The Maggie I knew, she changed. Became cold, shut off."

There was a pause. Daniel took in all the implications the word "Maggie" held. Patients didn't usually call their doctor by their first name, and in the military, surname-only was usually the standard.

"She just skipped town one day. The next I hear of her, four years later, she had some kind of crazy project going in California and got herself killed."

"And you're pissed off... because she bailed on you?"

Jack grunted vaguely.

Well, that did make sense, in a way. Charlie was dead, Sara had left, and Jack wasn't really the sociable type. If Walsh had disappeared during that delicate phase, it probably hadn't helped much. Daniel remembered how irritable and sensitive Jack had been during their first year or so together in SG-1. And he had a bunch of abandonment issues. Things were starting to look a little clearer.

"This Walsh, the one who's here now..." Jack sighed "I know she's not the same as the one I knew. But it doesn't mean she might not be just as unpredictable. It's not like I'm the only one who's paranoid about her, the Pentagon's wary too."

Daniel nodded. It was pretty convenient for Jack, wasn't it? It was so much easier to hide hurt feelings behind some security concern. And of course, much easier to avoid facing up to them than trying to resolve them.

"So why did you help with her treatment?" asked Daniel.

"It seemed like the right thing to do. I don't get kicks out of seeing people in pain. Looks like I'm a sucker after all." He sighed wearily.

"Maybe this Walsh will be a better friend than the other was?"

Jack pulled a face. "I don't want to find out. I'll be civil... well, I'll try. Best I can do."

"Okay... and, well, since she's here to stay, will you be upset if we get friendly with her?"

O'Neill sighed and rubbed his face. "Fraiser already looks like she loves her. I think it's all that neurological babble, it's some kind of kinky MD bonding language."

Daniel nearly choked on his coffee. "Filthy mental image!"

"What?" said Jack with a mischievous glint in his eye. "I said bonding, not bondage."

"I know what you said, it's the way you said it."

"Anyhow, I guess Walsh will probably worm her way into here... if she recovers. They're still not really clear with the za'tarc detector, you know."

"I thought she'd been cleared," said Daniel, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, except where it comes to me. MacKenzie said something about complex emotions not getting read right. They both assure me that she doesn't want to kill me though."

"Well, considering that even your friends end up wanting to kill you at some point in their relationship with you, I'd say that's where the za'tarc detector could sense a lie."

"Hey!"

Daniel gave Jack his best snotty expression. Jack gave him the evil eye. Well, it looked like everything was falling back into place. Hopefully, Jack would become more bearable as time went by.

* * *

Walsh stirred when she heard voices in the background. She felt groggy and nauseous, as usual. The headache had subsided though. It felt as though she hadn't slept at all, or rather, that she'd been sleeping in the tumbler of a washing-machine, and she had no idea if hours or days had gone by since she'd been brought into the infirmary. She closed her eyes again, and listened to Janet talking to the nurse in the infirmary.

"... Major Wade's wound is bleeding again, I changed the dressing but..." She heard them shuffle towards him to take a look.

Walsh couldn't see them. She'd been put in a corner of the infirmary, behind a screen that offered a little privacy. Walsh vaguely recollected having shouted, in the midst of a panic attack, that she didn't want to be seen in that state. The fact that O'Neill was staring at her certainly hadn't helped her feel at ease. This was better, she didn't want to face people looking at her with suspicion or, worse yet, pity. Which they were going to do as soon as she got out of the infirmary, after her little outburst in the corridor.

"How has Dr Walsh been?" asked Dr Fraiser.

"She hasn't eaten anything, so I put in an IV as you asked. She's got tremors and I don't think she's slept much."

Walsh stared down at her arm. She couldn't even recall when they'd stuck that needle into her. Well, she probably needed it. She didn't feel like she could keep anything down, at the moment.

Janet soon appeared, holding a portfolio in one hand. She stood by the screen for a moment, and Walsh felt that she was assessing her. Janet's was the only gaze she could stand. It felt professional, and unprejudiced. She was the only one who didn't treat her as if she were a new type of dangerous alien.

"Hey?" said Fraiser softly. "How are you doing?"

"Well, I'm not going to die yet, apparently."

"Feeling depressed?" Fraiser pulled up a chair and sat down to face Walsh.

"Confused. I hate feeling confused." She started trembling again as she spoke and cursed her stupid body.

"Did you manage to sleep?"

"I'm not sure. It doesn't feel like it."

"Perhaps we'll give you stronger sedation. You need to rest."

"Jan–" she shook her head and sighed. She couldn't call her that. It wasn't her world. "Dr Fraiser, it's hard for me to tell what's going on here."

"Apart from the withdrawal symptoms?" asked Fraiser with a smile.

"I wish I'd seen those for what they were. It would have spared me some embarrassment."

"You're embarrassed? You told me you were taking an SSRI, you said you had migraines, and I had to be reminded about SSRI discontinuation syndrome by Colonel O'Neill, of all people!"

Walsh couldn't help but laugh. "That was really out of left field."

"The Colonel helping you?"

"Yes. Ever since I got here, he and... well, most people really have been treating me as if I'm some sort of criminal. I wish I knew why, because..."

She didn't want to say it. Because it hurt. Her skin was usually thicker than that, or at least she liked to think so. She felt so vulnerable, after everything that had happened in the last few months, and with these stupid symptoms.

Fraiser was looking at her quietly, thoughtfully. Walsh suspected that she knew why everyone here was afraid of her; in Walsh's world, Hammond frequently trusted her with highly sensitive information.

"I suppose it's classified," muttered Walsh, sighing and stretching her sore back.

"Actually, I got permission from General Hammond to tell you what you'd like to know."

Walsh straightened, feeling a glimmer of hope. The questions she'd asked – screamed at – O'Neill at the height of her little panic attack were still running through her head, and she'd give anything to make them stop.

Fraiser seemed to notice Walsh's eager expression. "That is, _if_ I consider that you're in an adequate state to hear about it."

Walsh snorted. "Do you think that I could get worse? I need to know what's going on, it's driving me crazy."

"All right," said Fraiser, opening up the folder she was carrying. "Shall we go over it together?"

"Please."

Fraiser's company was welcome, if only to convince Walsh that she wasn't dreaming. The resume was similar to hers until her mid-twenties, where this dimension's Walsh had never enrolled in the Air Force and had gone on to work in the experimental neurobiology field, until her collaboration with the military in the 90ies.

It was harder for Walsh to take in the meaning of the NID's files, which were a record of the Initiative Project. Her alter ego had apparently been commissioned to study "subterrestrial hostiles", and to create "super soldiers" by drugging up young recruits and tinkering with their nervous system. The final goal of the project was to build a prototype out of various cybernetic, human and subterrestrial parts.

Walsh had trouble concentrating on the paper; it was starting to distress her. The name of Riley Finn, which popped up at regular intervals, wasn't helping. She could feel the electric headache creep back into her skull.

Her counterpart had finally attempted to terminate a young woman who was getting too curious. Professor Walsh had then been killed in an unrelated accident involving her own creation, which she apparently referred to as her "child".

"I can't believe this," she muttered.

"Does it look familiar?"

"Somewhat. I received a thesis on subterrestrials from this Dr Angelman before the Stargate project was re-opened. I was studying the Goa'uld at the time, so I never had a chance to get back to him." She leafed through the pages again. "The Initiative Project seems..."

"Demented?"

Walsh nodded.

"Looks like Professor Walsh and Dr Angelman were trying to play Dr Frankenstein. And that never ends well."

"Yes. I've seen some sick things created by the Goa'uld and other races... and I did some rather unethical experiments myself, but it never went that far..."

Walsh wondered just how much the people in this dimension could accept it. She'd worked on Jaffa and their Goa'uld symbiotes until they died. She was following orders, of course, but knowing their relationship with Apophis' First Prime – Teal'c, was it? – there was a good chance that they had more respect for the life of Goa'uld symbiotes in this world than they'd had in hers.

"Apparently a prototype for the anti-violence chip is still being developed..."

Janet's voice sounded distant, Walsh's body had started to tremble uncontrollably. Her head was pounding and buzzing, and she bit her lip to keep in a moan as a violent shudder went up her spine and into her brain. It was unbearable. She faintly heard Janet's voice and felt her warm hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her down on the bed. Walsh grabbed at her, as if having a hold on Janet would stop the pain and panic that overwhelmed her.

Minutes passed, tremors turned to faint trembling and the electric storm in Walsh's head returned to a low buzz.

"Well, wasn't that a fun ride," gasped Walsh, when she trusted herself enough to talk without her stomach heaving. She noticed that Janet had a syringe in her hand and had probably injected her with a sedative. She was tired, now, everything was fuzzy.

Janet gave her a small sympathetic smile. "According to the information I have, most cases of withdrawal improve a couple of weeks after the subject last took the medication. Or, well, we could put you on another SSRI and taper it off."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather tough it out and wait for the withdrawal symptoms to pass on their own."

"Are you sure? Some people take longer than others to recover from withdrawal."

Walsh nodded. She'd had enough of the pills even before she left; the fact that she'd forgotten to ask for a new prescription was probably a sign that she wanted out.

"Well, all right. But if I don't see improvement within a week, we'll do it my way. And in the meantime I'd like to keep an eye on you in here."

"But I'm not in any dang–"

"Ah!" Fraiser glowered at Walsh, waving the empty syringe to emphasise that she wouldn't take any objections, her face set in immutable resolve.

It was funny, and so typical of Janet that Walsh burst out laughing. She hadn't expected the laughter to dissolve into tears a few moments later. She quickly swiped her hand across her face, laughing and sobbing at the same time.

It was so hard. They all looked so much like her friends that there were moments when she felt they were there... and then she realised that they'd gone, that the person facing her was a stranger. It would have been disturbing even if her team had still been alive, in her world; with them dead, it was unbearable.

"Sometimes I just wish I'd stayed there," she said, practically to herself. "You'll never be my SGC."

Janet laid a hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps we aren't your SGC, but I'm here to help you out of this. And if you're going to stay here, you'd better get used to us."

Her words sunk in slowly. "Am I really going to be kept here in the long term?"

"President's orders. If you'll share your knowledge and experience, you're free to stay. And he'd rather you did, you know our policy about people who know about the Stargate Project."

Walsh nodded. It was good, better than she'd hoped, but somehow she felt even more lost than before. "I'm not sure I'll be able to cope."

"We'll see about that. First, how do you want me to call you?" asked Janet. "You're not considered an officer until you reapply to our dimension's Air Force, so I can call you Dr Walsh. Or whatever you–"

"Maggie." The name came out unexpectedly, and Walsh cringed. She must have sounded so desperate.

"Right, Maggie. You can call me Janet, if that's what you're used to calling me."

Tears prickled her eyes. "It's... it's pretty familiar."

"I don't mind one bit," said Janet with a soothing smile. "And now I'd like you to try and sleep."

Maggie felt tears run down her cheek, and some of the soreness in her chest shifted just a little. She closed her eyes and relinquished Janet's arm, letting herself relax at last. This wasn't home yet, but it would do for now.

* * *

**Author's note:** Just a little comment on antidepressants and psychiatrists. If they're portrayed quite negatively at times it's for the purpose of my story only – and mostly because Walsh and O'Neill are stubborn asses (and MacKenzie isn't exactly shown as competent on the show, either). I personally have a lot of respect for the profession and believe that psychiatry is mostly beneficial to patients. SSRI withdrawal is a real thing, one which wasn't really addressed in the media before the 2000s.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Kawalsky carefully surveyed the mess hall's selection of wonderful foods. There was something that looked like beef stew, mashed potatoes, roast chicken, Salisbury steak, something Asian-ish with prawns, several types of salads which probably appealed to the rabbits and perhaps the ladies on base, and some kind of orange gunk that was supposed to be macaroni and cheese. He went for that and a Salisbury steak.

"That's daring," said a voice behind him. He turned to see Carter.

"Hi, Major," he said. "You gonna tell me that I should eat something green every day?"

"Eh, don't knock it." She was eyeing the stew dubiously, and finally chose a salad.

"Does this count?" asked Kawalsky, picking a bowl of green Jell-o off a shelf.

Carter chuckled as she made her way to a table. "No, that's cheating."

Kawalsky followed her, although he hadn't exactly been invited. You didn't get much by playing shy, and since she was speaking to him, well... he'd take a chance. It was the first time in ten days that he got the occasion to have a casual conversation with someone he kinda knew.

"OK if I sit here?" he asked.

"Sure."

He settled down opposite her. Of course, he wasn't taking much of a risk by being friendly with Carter. As far as he could tell, she and Daniel were pretty similar to those in his world. Well, so was Jack, really; he just wasn't easy to approach. Kawalsky had to admit that Jack's attitude bummed him out a bit. It was sad, after having lost him, to be stuck with a version of him who had some kind of grudge against Walsh.

"So... aren't you missing real food?" asked Carter after a while.

"There's other food than cafeteria food?"

She grinned at him. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure there is."

"The only other type I can think of is MRE meals."

"So you didn't get out of the base very often, back in your world."

"Not really. But that had its upsides," he said.

Carter raised an eyebrow, munching her salad. "Such as?"

"Well, when I go home and cook, it usually doesn't look better than this." He motioned towards the orange glop that they called macaroni.

She pulled a face but looked amused, then turned her attention back to her own plate. He wondered if she was like their Carter: smart, beautiful and talented, the object of a thousand crushes, and too obsessed with her job – or a certain Colonel maybe – to find any time for personal stuff. Not that he'd tried it with her back there. He was pretty sure Jack would have kicked his ass, if Carter hadn't done it herself.

"So I heard that you're doing evaluations to be Major again?"

"That's right. I thought I might get demoted, so I'm pretty happy about it. Then I'll be joining SG-8."

"How's Dr Walsh doing?"

"Eh, they let her out of the infirmary today. She's not 100% yet, but better than when we got here."

Carter nodded. "That's good. And neither of you is suffering from temporal entropic cascade failure?"

"Doesn't look like it. But I guess it could just be a matter of time, right?"

"Well... I have a few theories," she smiled cautiously.

"Any of them involve us not dying?" asked Kawalsky with a wry grin.

Carter laughed a little. "Yeah, actually. Chances are that you'll be able to stay here indefinitely because you're not coexisting with another version of yourself. But I guess the death of your alter-egos might also give you some more time until failure kicks in. It could be a matter of months or years rather than days."

Kawalsky grinned at her. "Very reassuring."

"Well, I tend more towards the first theory, but we've never been able to study the phenomenon on a long-term basis."

"Anyhow we figured that a few months or years would be better than just dying, poof. At best, we thought that by dimension hopping, we could finally find a place where none of us had been born."

"That would have taken some time," she said, tucking into a piece of pie.

"Yeah. It's a strange thing, survival instinct. You don't really think much further than 'I don't want to die today'. It's probably stupid, but..." he shrugged.

"Weren't there any other people on base that you would have wanted to bring along?"

"My team had been pretty much killed off, which is why they merged SG-1 and SG-2. Walsh wasn't very attached to anyone except for Fraiser and Finn. But Fraiser had left Colorado with Cassandra, they wouldn't have had time to come in. I didn't really have a say as to who was coming and who wasn't anyway."

"Walsh seems tough, huh?"

"When she was in SG-1?" he laughed. "Oh yeah. She was a Lieutenant Colonel after all, and she didn't let me forget it."

"And then she became your CO," said Carter with a sly smile. Kawalsky remembered the first time they'd met Carter and she'd lectured them about women and sexual organs or whatever it was. Maybe they'd had a similar run-in in this universe and she hadn't forgotten about it either.

"Yeah. But that was OK, I'd known her for a long time. Lucky we stuck together, the missions they sent us on weren't that much fun."

"What kind of missions were they?"

"Generally, they sent us in to steal devices from various people so that we could tinker with them."

"How come you continued, if you disagreed so much with Maybourne's demands?"

Kawalsky shrugged. "I like to be where the action is, and so did Finn."

"What about Walsh?" There was suspicion in Carter's voice. He'd heard it several times when they referred to her. He wished he knew why.

"She was pretty much on auto-pilot. The only times where she'd actually show some kind of emotion was when Finn was in danger. She'd taken a personal interest in his career and recruited him into the program. Other than that... well, I can't read her mind or anything, but she looked pretty uninterested in what was going on around her."

Carter seemed thoughtful. Kawalsky started on his Jell-o. Looked like Carter hadn't understood the finer points of "being depressed as shit". He suspected that she might understand if he told her to imagine what life would be like without Daniel and Jack, but he didn't say anything. He was pretty sure Walsh would have his balls if he made any more references to her current emotional state. For that matter, it might reveal a bit too much about his, too.

"It must be really weird to be around people you've known for years, but who don't know you all that well," said Carter.

"Yeah. But I don't really mind making friends with you guys again. And I'm sure it'll be fairly easy with Daniel and Ferretti. But O'Neill..." he shook his head.

"He's being very suspicious–"

"He's being a jerk. I can't believe how he talks to me, or to Walsh. I have no idea what we did to him over here to make him hate our guts."

"Well, I'm not sure either. You died with that Goa'uld symbiote in you, and from what I could tell, he felt very bad about it. Actually I don't think he's got anything against you personally, it's just..."

"Walsh."

"Yeah, I guess."

"But you have no idea why." He could tell from her expression. That, and the fact that Jack didn't confide in Carter, at least not in their world. Seemed to be the same here.

"You know the Colonel... well I guess you've known him for a long time?"

"Twenty years or so," said Kawalsky.

"So why would he hold a grudge against someone?"

"Could be anything, competition, disagreements... she might have betrayed him somehow, that's usually a biggie with him. Or, you know, lovers' quarrel."

Okay that wasn't a very nice thing to say to Carter, and he could tell by her wide eyes that it shocked her. Still, given Jack and Walsh's relationship in his own dimension, it wasn't that far-fetched.

Carter smiled stiffly, getting out of her seat. "I guess we'll never really know. And I've got to go, the lab calls."

"Have fun," he said as she walked away.

Kawalsky smiled. It was good to be back. Somehow, even if it meant that he was going to die of that weird failure thing, he wouldn't have wanted things to turn out differently. At least he'd die somewhere familiar, and with familiar goop as his last meal.

* * *

Carter tapped on her computer, trying to correct her formula. She was working on optimising a naquadah reactor, but she had probably made a mistake somewhere. Now all she needed to do was to find it – easier said than done. Someone suddenly knocked on her office's door, derailing her train of thought.

"Come in," she called.

"Major Carter?" She looked up from her computer screen to see Siler enter the room. He was followed by Teal'c, who was carrying what looked like a small insulated case.

"Oh, is that the naquadah shipment we were expecting from Edora?" They could really have done with that right now.

"Uh... no, ma'am," said Siler. "We made a discovery when we were going through the belongings of the people who came from the other dimension."

She tried to hide her disappointment. "Yes?"

"General Hammond told me to bring them to you, ma'am. They started emitting an interesting kind of electromagnetic field. We think it could be due to temporal entropic cascade failure."

"On inert objects?" asked Carter, getting off her seat.

"That's right, ma'am." He turned to Teal'c. "Could you show her, sir?"

Teal'c bowed his head and Carter cleared a section of her desk to let him open the small case. She watched intently as he opened it to reveal six US military identification tags, each encased ininsulatingfoam. She raised an eyebrow.

"You say that they're emitting an EM field?"

"Some of them, ma'am," said Siler, as she retrieved a Geiger counter.

"And you needed Teal'c's help to carry them? Are they heavier than they should be?" The readings of the Geiger counter were normal.

"No, ma'am, that wasn't the problem." Siler showed her his hands. One of his palms had a red, blistering, dog-tag-shaped burn on it. The other was also scalded to a lesser degree. He must have been burnt while handling the tags. Not surprising that he'd needed Teal'c's help to transport the case.

"They must be heating up due to molecular instability. Whoa!" She'd clearly seen a pair of tags vibrate and ripple, and then heat came up from it. Incredible. She delicately retrieved one of them with some pliers.

"Yeah, that's when it heats up," said Siler. "It sort of phase-shifts or something and then there's a heat surge. I didn't notice until it was too late."

"That's fascinating." Carter stuck the identification tag under the microscope. After several minutes, a small ripple blurred the letters on the tag. Siler was right; there was some kind of phase-shifting or perhaps molecular rearrangement involved.

"It doesn't seem to be degrading yet." She started jotting down notes. "Are these Kawalsky's?"

"Uh, no, ma'am. Those are also phase-shifting, but not as often." Siler sounded uneasy. "Those are Colonel O'Neill's."

Carter blinked, and looked at the tags placed on her microscope. Siler was right. The tags read "O'NEILL, JACK", followed by the Colonel's information. Carter finally pulled her eyes away from the pieces of metal. "How is this possible, Sergeant?"

"Well, ma'am, Colonel Walsh had them with her when she came through the gate. They were in her pack with some other personal belongings."

Carter frowned, staring at them hard, but not just because they were phase-shifting.

"Major Carter, is it not forbidden for someone else to carry these tags?" asked Teal'c.

"Sure is. They should have either been on the Colonel or returned to the Pentagon." More importantly, how would Walsh have got her hands on them? When would the Colonel ever have let her take them from him?

Teal'c also approached, scowling slightly, and took a look at the dog tags. He remained silent for a long moment, as if close inspection would yield any answers.

Carter was confused and, somehow, angry. Kawalsky's last comment started echoing in her head, but that still didn't make sense. He wouldn't have given them to her. Nobody would have let her take them after he'd died... not if they'd seen her do it, anyway.

"I'm calling the General," she muttered, picking up her phone and dialling Hammond's office.

"Hammond?" said the General's voice, after a couple of rings.

"General, this is Major Carter. I just received the ID tags you sent me."

"Yes, Major, I was expecting your call," said the General. He sounded somewhat wary.

"I'm just a little worried about Dr Walsh having Colonel O'Neill's tags."

"I know it's irregular, Major. We raised the issue when we interviewed her and were satisfied with her response."

And apparently he wasn't going to tell her what the response was, so it obviously wasn't something straightforward. Still, Walsh was being cleared to work with them, so the reasons couldn't be all that sinister, could they?

"I understand, sir."

"For the time being, Colonel O'Neill doesn't know anything about the tags, and I would like it to stay that way. Is that clear, Major?"

"Sir." Oh god, she hated that kind of order. Secrets weren't her forte.

"He's trying to work out his differences with Walsh. There seems to be some progress on that front, I wouldn't want it to go to waste."

"Of course, sir."

She just really hoped that the General knew what he was doing. Nobody had fooled a za'tarc detector so far, but it didn't mean that couldn't happen. If Walsh hadn't taken the tags for sentimental reasons, they could have been some kind of creepy trophy. Carter wasn't sure which solution she liked the least.

"And in the meantime, I'm sure that these ID tags will be very interesting for your research on temporal paradoxes."

"Yes, it looks like it. Thank you for sending them here, sir."

"All right. I'm counting on your discretion, Major." And he hung up.

Carter frowned. Okay, Walsh seemed weak, she may really have been ill, but none of this could rule out the possibility that she was also messing with all of them. That was what the Colonel kept on repeating, after all. And what if she had some kind of mental condition that trumped the za'tarc detector?

"What do you think Teal'c?"

"I believe that we must remain cautious regarding Dr Walsh," he said, a slight frown on his face. Carter had no idea if he'd heard the phone conversation, but she nodded.

"It just seems so weird. I don't see under which circumstances this could be excused. Taking something from a dead officer..."

"You do not know that Colonel O'Neill was dead when the identification tags were taken, Major Carter."

"That doesn't make any sense either."

"If General Hammond accepted Dr Walsh's explanation, for the time being, we may only trust his judgement."

Carter sighed. She knew that she wasn't being quite rational; Kawalsky had offered a possible answer, and if there really had been some kind of relationship between the Colonel and Walsh in the other dimension, the General probably wouldn't have wanted people to know about it.

It was just hard for Carter to imagine O'Neill giving anyone his tags for any reason, nor could she picture Walsh with warm fuzzy feelings. The woman was so controlled and reserved that it seemed impossible. She could just about imagine her being obsessed with the Colonel and secretly stealing a keepsake, but that didn't make her seem any less creepy.

"Okay. Siler, get yourself to the infirmary."

He didn't need telling twice. Carter settled back at her desk, her eyes glued to the pieces of metal.

"I too shall take my leave," said Teal'c, bowing and walking out of her lab.

She barely nodded at him, her mind already racing, forming ideas she couldn't yet formulate but that could turn into groundbreaking discoveries about multiple dimensions. Perhaps they would never know exactly how Walsh had got these ID tags, but there was at least one mystery surrounding them that she was qualified to solve.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Things were starting to feel a little more normal after nearly three weeks in the SGC. Walsh had not only moved out of the infirmary, but also been put in guest quarters on Level 25, where Kawalsky and other members of SG teams were housed. She'd had a room there in her own SGC, although that seemed terribly long ago.

Of course, her room now had surveillance cameras watching her day and night, but at least they'd decided to let her move freely around levels 21 and 22, so she could go to the mess hall or the infirmary whenever she needed to. She obviously wasn't allowed anywhere near the Gate room or the armouries, and the labs were still off limits until she got full clearance. That didn't seem to be too far away, though.

Although she wasn't sure if she was ready for work yet, she was starting to get bored and had much too much time to reflect on things that weren't doing her any good. At least the symptoms of the withdrawal were dwindling; the brutal headaches often flared up around the end of the day, and she was still rather jumpy, but it was nothing like the first ten days.

And now she was making her way to her least favourite place, MacKenzie's office on Level 21. It had been two weeks since their first interview and she felt sick at the thought of having to talk about her relationship with Jack yet again, and for it to fall into the selectively-deaf ears of an O'Neill who despised her. She hadn't seen him since he'd left her in the infirmary, and she didn't know how she felt about confronting him yet again.

Walsh was startled by the klaxon blaring. From the sound it made, this wasn't an unscheduled gate activation – it was the tone they used when the base was internally compromised. The loudspeakers crackled as someone switched on a mic to make an announcement, but she only heard muffled cries and scuffling before it went out again.

She froze, trying to decide what to do. Her pass wouldn't let her down to Level 28, nor would she be able to get a weapon to defend herself. There wasn't much she _could_ do, damn it. A couple of airmen sped by her, all geared up. She watched them numbly as they went down the corridor.

"What are you doing here ma'am?" someone snapped at her. She turned to see Major Griff, who'd come up behind her with two other men from his team.

"I was going to see Dr MacKenzie." That sounded so dumb. She knew there was some kind of emergency, adrenaline was coursing all through her already, and here she was talking about stupid shrink appointments.

"Well you're not anymore. Get back to your quarters."

"What's going on?"

"I'm not at liberty to tell you, now move your ass, lady!"

She bit back a sharp retort, wishing she still had the authority to snarl at lower ranking officers. With a frown, she followed Griff back towards the elevator, listening intently to what he was saying over the radio.

"... got an unexpected guest, sir. The woman from the other dimension. Walsh, yeah."

They got to the elevator. Walsh was having trouble concentrating on anything. There seemed to be a swarm of people moving in different directions, shouted orders, the sound of distant gunfire. And she suddenly had no idea how she could fit into all this, how she could help.

"We're on Level 21, sir, she was going to MacKenzie's." There was a pause. "I know, sir, I'm waiting for that damn elevator."

Walsh still tried to make sense out of what she was seeing. The men were all geared up with radios and weapons, which meant that they were prepared for whatever was going on, or had got ready real fast. And something serious had happened, something that involved the gate room. She suspected it was some kind of foothold situation.

"Look, Major," she said, "it doesn't matter where I am if the base has been compromised. I might as well help."

Gunfire and the sound of zat blasts suddenly filled a corridor just behind them, coming in their direction.

"Dammit!" Griff smacked the elevator door, then turned to another officer who'd just arrived. "Pierce, you do as we planned, I'll get her out of the way."

He grabbed Walsh's arm and pulled her towards a storage room. She resisted the urge to wrench out of his grip, gritting her teeth and casting a last glance towards the source of the gunfire as she went.

O'Neill suddenly burst round a corner, followed by three young recruits. He motioned them towards the labs while he kept guard, sheltered in the alcove formed by the elevator. Griff curse as he flattened them both against the door of the storage room he was about to open.

Three Jaffa appeared in full armour; one of them was Teal'c. Walsh did a double take. He was an ally, wasn't he? Why was he wearing his First Prime garb? Walsh turned to Griff, to ask him if she was hallucinating, but shots went off and her eyes turned back towards the group of Jaffa.

O'Neill had opened fire on them, probably to cover the recruits who were running down the corridor. The Jaffa took cover, their staff weapons opening, ready to shoot. O'Neill's P90 sputtered and died. Everything from this point seemed to be going in slow motion and incredibly fast at the same time. Apophis' First Prime shot a blast of energy. It caught O'Neill right in the chest and he flew onto the ground.

This couldn't be happening. Not again. There was smoke and blood and O'Neill was sprawled on his back and she couldn't move an inch, rooted to the spot in horror. The First Prime stared right at her, his face an unreadable, solemn mask. She was next, wasn't she? And at that moment, she didn't really care.

Major Griff suddenly pushed her inside the storage room and closed the door behind her. She thought he'd told her to stay there until they came to fetch her and that it would be all right, but the words made no sense. Surely the Jaffa would come and fetch her within instants, and that would be the end.

It was dark in the storage room; she didn't even bother to look for the light switch. She just stood there, cold sweat tingling down her back, images of what she'd just seen running through her mind over and over. The noise outside died down, armoured boots clanked past the door and moved down the corridor, until she couldn't hear them anymore. Why hadn't they come after her? Had she dreamt it all? What if it had been a vivid flashback?

Walsh realised that she couldn't catch her breath. She tried to calm down before the hyperventilation got out of hand; she needed to stay in control. If she took deep enough breaths, she could venture out of the room to see what the hell was going on. That was the plan.

The corridor was eerily silent when she finally opened the door a crack. She flinched away from the light; the neons were violently bright compared to the soothing darkness of the storage room. She scanned the empty hallway then slowly took a step out.

There was blood on the ground. Surely, she couldn't be imagining that. And O'Neill was still where he'd fallen. It wasn't a dream or a flashback. She choked down the terror that was rising in her throat, and quickly checked that the corridor was secure. There wasn't a sound; they were probably all on another level.

Walsh stumbled towards O'Neill's body. What were the chances of this happening to her twice? But there she was, faced with Jack's body once more. She reached out to feel for a pulse, trying to control the violent trembling in her hands. The infirmary wasn't far, if he was still alive she might be able to... His skin was still warm... she thought she felt a pulse...

She nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand swatted her fingers away. She ungracefully fell back onto her ass and stared in disbelief. O'Neill groaned, rubbing his neck where she'd touched him. He slowly pulled himself into a sitting position and looked at her, a puzzled expression on his face. She was trembling all over with panic and relief.

"Walsh, what the hell are you doing?" he said, very quietly, but in an unmistakably annoyed tone.

She opened her mouth to explain, but no words came out. Tears were stinging her eyes and she did her best to blink them back down. O'Neill got to his feet, grumbling to himself. Blood spilled from his chest.

"You're wounded," she managed to say, her eyes fixed on the blood soaking his clothes and dripping onto the floor.

"What?" He looked down towards his chest. "Oh, that." He pulled his jacket open and produced a bag of prosthetic blood.

It was a fucking exercise. O'Neill had willingly got himself shot by his Jaffa friend in order to test a bunch of newbies. Walsh tried to breathe and found that she still couldn't. She was suffocating with anger, with terror, with grief; they were all welling up in her chest, ready to burst.

"I asked you a question, Walsh! What were you doing out here?"

"I was going to MacKenzie's!" she snarled back, getting back on her feet. "If any of you had deemed necessary to let me know that you were going to do an exercise, I wouldn't have been in your way. I didn't know what was going on! I thought..."

"Shh! C'mon." He made his way to the storage room and entered. She followed blindly, her head swimming and her heart bashing in a mixture of shock and anger. When he lit up the small room and closed the door behind her, black spots fluttered in front of her eyes. Great.

"This is O'Neill," she heard him say on the radio. "Everything went according to plan, sir. I'm now in a storage room on Level 21 with Walsh. ... Yeah, I guess, she looks crappy, got a good mind to get her to the infirmary. ... Ah, right, so I guess she should stay put here for a while. ... What? Are you sure sir?" He sighed. "... Okay, we'll do that, sir."

Walsh was trying to breathe properly again. Her heart was beating loud in her ears, in her head. Stars in front of her eyes formed horror scenes, flashes of Jack dead on the gurney, of the fatal blast Carter took, of Daniel blowing his own brains out... a sob, or a retch, racked through her.

"Looks like we're stuck in here until the end of the exercise," said O'Neill. "And there's a trash can to your left if you're going to throw up."

It felt like she was going to. She took a hurried step towards it, and everything went dark.

She heard wheezing breath by her ear and felt dragged down by a limp arm draped over her shoulder. Carter's eyes glossed over before she crumpled to the floor at Jack's feet. The smell of burnt flesh made her stomach churn. Blood and brains spattered the walls and her face and everyone was screaming. A familiar voice was speaking to her, though she couldn't make out the words.

"What?" She didn't recognise the surroundings; everything was going in and out of focus. O'Neill was sitting on his haunches next to her.

"You passed out," he said.

Awesome. That just topped it off nicely, didn't it? "How long was I out?"

"Less than a minute."

"Right," she muttered, slowly propping herself up onto her elbow.

"Maybe we should try the infirmary after all..."

"I wouldn't want to ruin that great exercise going on out there."

He glared at her. "Don't worry, you managed to do that pretty well."

"What, did my turning up ruin your fun?"

"You could have got shot." Their eyes met for an instant, then he looked away. He'd seemed concerned – no. He felt responsible for her security.

"Even if I had, weren't you using intar bullets and blanks?"

"You never know what a blank can do, and intars hurt like hell."

"I know." She watched him for a while. "You think I'm some sort of wuss, don't you?"

"Last time I checked, your combat skills were pretty much the same as Daniel's when he first went to Abydos."

"I'm not that Maggie. And even if I was, four years with SG-1 make you learn combat skills pretty fast. Ask Daniel."

"Huh. And do badass officers pass out at the sight of blood in your reality?"

"It wasn't the sight of blood, you stupid, stupid man!"

She got up abruptly, fighting the dizziness with all her might to pace the room. He sounded so much like Jack that it was unbearable. And she couldn't close her eyes; every time she did, flashes of violence flooded her brain. God, when would it stop?

"You're a world-class actress, you know that?"

"Huh?"

"It's a nice act you've got going, but I don't buy it."

He'd got up and was looking at her with that distant, suspicious look again. She focused on him, his words sinking in slowly. No, of course he didn't believe that she was capable of feeling. It wasn't surprising, she usually did a good job of hiding it. But that Jack – any O'Neill – would think that... it was irrational, but she expected him to know better.

"I don't care what Hammond or MacKenzie or that za'tarc detector say," he continued. "I don't trust you, Walsh. And I'll personally make sure that–"

"Yes, yes, I get the picture!" It was worth it just for the face he made when she interrupted him. "You'll never trust me, you'll eternally be on my case to make sure I don't do something to the base, however much I prove that I'm loyal to the SGC. I got it, so why don't you just shut up, O'Neill?"

"That's Colonel to you!"

"I'm not MacKenzie, don't you try to screw around with me!"

"I thought I'd managed _that_ pretty well in your dimension, Maggie!"

She launched herself at him, aiming a punch at the damn self-satisfied expression on his face. He grabbed her wrists easily, immobilising her. She was still much too weak and slow even to land a blow, and that was pretty pathetic. Worse, her anger dissolved suddenly, giving way to crushing grief. Her knees felt weak, and she was pretty sure that if he hadn't gripped her upper arms to support her weight, she'd have fallen to the floor.

"Well, are you going to kick my ass, or what?" His voice was softer, the taunt mostly gone from it.

She wished she could, it would be so much better than standing there like a rag doll, trying not to look at him because her eyes were filling with tears. She noticed that she'd grabbed hold of his shirt. The proper thing now would be to let go of him and take a step backwards, but she was trembling too much. It didn't help that she had the most stupid, desperate urge to pull him close and just cling to him and sob her heart out.

"I'm not putting it on," she said quietly, letting go of him to wipe a hand across her face.

He looked at her, frowning, his dark eyes piercing as ever. She stared back at him, willing him to see that she was telling the truth. If he was anything like the man she knew, he'd be able to read her. He was good at it. They watched each other quietly for what felt like a long time.

"You'd better sit," he said after a while, helping her to get down on the floor again, her back resting against he wall. "So for the sake of argument, let's say you're not lying. Who the hell are you, and what did you do with the hard-ass that Walsh was?"

"Oh please. You must have only known her superficially if you thought that wasn't just for show."

"Huh." He was still watching her carefully. She thought there was less hostility in his gaze, but perhaps that was wishful thinking.

"Look... I don't care if you believe me or not, but maybe I should... perhaps I should tell you everything." It was probably stupid, but she'd only told him part of the story and if she wanted his trust, it might be worth a shot. Or maybe she just really needed to talk about it.

"Fine. I don't want to hear it in front of that shrink anyway." He sat down next to her, closer to her than she ever would have expected, and checked his watch. "Besides, we probably have at least an hour of quality time together before the exercise is over."

She remained silent for a while, collecting her thoughts. Where could she start? Memories still kept on flooding her mind. His ragged breath, his body pressed hard against hers, skin against skin. Her own voice echoing in an ugly scream when she saw him hit. The sound of metal skidding across the bedroom floor. Daniel's bloodshot, tear-filled eyes instants before the shot went off.

"So, whatcha thinking of that makes you shake like a leaf?"

"Daniel." She could see Daniel's face, confused, triumphant, terrified... the soldiers and Tok'ra gathering around him to stop him, no matter the cost. And the gun in his hand...

"Yeah, he can be pretty scary with all the languages he insists on speaking–"

"He shot himself."

O'Neill went quiet.

"The damn Jaffa on Apophis' new ship must've got their hands on him and programmed him while he was separated from Jack and Carter. That's why we found him so easily. A few weeks later he emptied his handgun on the Tok'ra High Council... and shot himself in the head."

She shuddered violently at her own words. She'd said it dozens of times, in debriefings and presentations and interrogations, and she'd been able to keep her cool. But now for some reason, this time she was feeling it all again intensely.

"And you cared?"

She glared at him "Of course I cared! Daniel was... He was understanding, and kind, and an insufferable nitpicker. He drove Jack nuts. We were so devastated when we thought that he was dead..."

"What, with that brainwashing walking squid?"

She couldn't help but smile. "That too. I was thinking of the time we left him behind on Apophis' mothership."

"Oh, yeah."

"Yeah."

"So how come you didn't get one of those stupid armbands?" he asked after a while. "Teal'c didn't get one here because he's a Jaffa, and it doesn't work on them. What's your excuse?"

She sighed. "It was mainly because the Tok'ra had issues with me. I was this human scientist who'd already figured out a crude way to remove symbiotes from people's brains. They didn't want me to get smarter. Besides, I wasn't very keen to have something unknown tamper with my system."

"I guess it was a smart move."

She shrugged. "I insisted that General Maybourne and Anise stop the experiment. Dr Fraiser also recommended it. But Maybourne didn't give a damn that three of his men were being driven nuts by some kind of virus, whatever we said."

"You sure you did your best to convince him?" He looked at her meaningfully.

It was so ridiculous that she couldn't even feel outraged. She just laughed wryly, wondering if she sounded hysterical. "Don't worry. It's not as if I haven't thought of that ever since you– they got themselves killed."

If she'd accepted to wear an armband, perhaps she could have saved them. If she'd been more persuasive. If she'd gone after them sooner. If she'd been faster to get to the ship. If she'd arrived ten seconds earlier... She swallowed down a sob. O'Neill was staring at her, disbelieving, wary.

"You think this is an act." Her voice was hoarse. "According to your logic I'm some kind of manipulative bitch who... what, exactly? Would sacrifice my team-mates just for the prestige of heading SG-1? God, what did she do to you to make you think so little of me?"

He sighed and rubbed his face, avoiding eye contact.

She stared at a wall for a while, doing her best to fight off the mixture of grief and bitter disappointment in this world. What was she expecting? For him to care, like her Jack would have? He was gone. She couldn't expect anything from this one. She didn't really _want_ anything from this one, because he was the damn wrong one. At least that's how she knew she should feel, if she were rational. But she wasn't very rational at the moment, and his suspicion and disgust hurt.

"Just say it already."

"What?"

"What you wanted to tell me."

Of course, it was that easy to bare her soul in front of someone who despised her. But it was still Jack, somewhere, deep down. She sighed, and wrapped her arms around her knees.

"I first met Jack O'Neill on a black ops mission in the late eighties. We were both Majors, and he had to help get me into a building to retrieve information from someone. We bickered, we collaborated, we nearly got ourselves killed... and then one thing led to another."

He didn't look at her. "So... you kinda had a relationship with him since the eighties?"

She made a face, hesitating. "He was married, it was more of a... you know, 'what happens in the field stays in the field' kind of thing. Though it did happen a few times."

He nodded. She was glad that he didn't deny that an O'Neill would ever do that sort of thing.

"After he divorced, I went to see him a few times, but I was working in Nevada and... well... the circumstances were all wrong to start something serious."

She could tell by his expression that he understood what she meant. It had been a very bad time for him, between Charlie's death and the divorce.

"And then we were both assigned to SG-1."

"And he wasn't worried about... you know?"

"We talked, we decided to keep things strictly within the regs from then on. And we did, for several years. And the team became our main focus... kind of like a family where we all had our role. When Daniel and Carter were nitpicking over some artefact, Jack and I were providing the sarcastic commentary."

"How come you weren't nitpicking with them?"

She shrugged. "I'm a different sort of nerd, I suppose."

"Huh, didn't know they came in different flavours." He sounded subdued by now.

"Anyhow, after General Hammond was killed and Maybourne had taken over, the regs didn't seem to matter as much. And we'd probably have done anything to escape the depressing reality for a while, so..."

"So, what, you're saying you were just messing around together because you needed the distraction?"

"It would have been too complicated to get into something more, even if we'd wanted to." And whether Jack would have wanted to would always remain a mystery.

"You really never got caught? Daniel usually picks up on stuff like that."

Walsh shrugged. "If he noticed, he never spoke to me about it. There was much more gossip about Jack and Carter going around."

"Ah."

She could tell from the way he averted his eyes that he was embarrassed. So it wasn't just in her dimension, whatever "it" was, exactly.

"I wish things had been better between us before..."

"Between who?"

"Me and the team. I was furious with them all, after they'd been given the armbands. They became so arrogant... as if somehow I'd become slow and incompetent. They laughed off my worries about the effect it was having on them. Maybourne encouraged them to act like idiots, sending them off to all sorts of dangerous places, mostly stealing things. Then they'd come back on base, load up on sugar, and wait for the next reckless mission."

"Sounds like Harry."

"Yeah. They all tried to convince me to join them, but I could see how... dumb and full of stupid hormones they'd become, and I really wasn't tempted."

"He didn't... you know..?"

"What?"

He made a little face and shrugged. She could only suppose he'd picked up on her reference to hormones.

"Jack did come onto me, if that's what you're asking," she said at last. "But he had enough sanity left to take the hint when I told him no."

He'd come to her in the locker room, of all places, and wrapped his hands around her hips in what he'd probably thought was a sensual way. His grip had been so hard that she still had bruises on the day they buried him, and he hadn't even meant to do it.

"I was just some normal human being. I swear those armbands were causing them to form a soft of pack into which nobody else was invited. They'd have disobeyed Maybourne's orders if they'd been told to stay on base."

"Ah, yeah. We kinda disobeyed Hammond and went to sabotage that damn new mothership too."

That was vaguely comforting. It showed to what extent their judgement had been altered, if even Hammond hadn't been able to keep them from putting themselves in danger.

"Janet and I figured that the armbands were going to fail and Anise finally admitted that we were right. But they'd already left. Maybourne sent me out with SG-2 to help them..."

She took a deep breath and pressed her knees closer to her chest, shuddering uncontrollably. There was no way she could look at him anymore.

"Kawalsky and I went into the mothership while Ferretti got Daniel to the gate. At some point the alarm was raised and force fields blocked us off just when we were getting to Jack and Carter..."

She'd heard him shout "no!" even before she'd caught sight of him. He and Carter had been standing immobile, staring at each other.

"Jack and Carter were separated by an energy field too. Jaffa were arriving, and there was nothing we could do. Then the first charge of C4 went off, the barriers came down, and I thought we had a chance... but the First Prime didn't even falter under the blast. He got Carter in the back with his staff weapon. She... she was dead in seconds. You– Jack grabbed her, he still wouldn't take cover and the Jaffa were still firing..."

Jack hadn't even heard her call him, or he hadn't cared. He'd been completely focused on Carter, on somehow bringing her back to safety. Just as she and Kawalsky opened fire on the Jaffa to cover Jack, the First Prime had fired his staff weapon. He'd locked eyes with her just when the blast hit, and the look on Jack's face would always be etched in her brain... terrified, furious, shocked... begging for help.

"We killed the Jaffa, but..." It was all she managed to say, until tears smothered her voice. She pressed her face against her knees so that she could at least pretend that he couldn't see her crying.

O'Neill's hand came to rest on the back of her neck, surprisingly warm and real amongst all the memories that were running through her head. It slid down between her shoulders, rubbing gingerly. It was hard to believe that he was touching her like that. Apparently the O'Neills in every dimension were completely helpless when a woman started to cry and would do just about anything to get her to stop.

"What I saw today, it looked just like..."

"I know, I figured that one out for myself."

She tried to contain her sobs so that they stayed small, quiet tremors. "We got him back to the SGC but he died on the way. I knew, I felt it while I was carrying him, but I didn't want to believe it. We dragged him all the way to the infirmary just so Janet could pronounce..." The word wouldn't come out. She could have sworn that he'd squeezed her shoulder.

"I didn't even realise how much he meant to me until I saw him lying there. I think I really..." Loved him. She hadn't meant to say it out loud, it was something she hadn't even really admitted it to herself yet. Perhaps O'Neill was as clueless about these things as he pretended to be and hadn't figured out what she was about to say. She hoped so.

His arm was draped around her shoulders by now. She hadn't really noticed at first – too lost in her own thoughts. Of course it wasn't out of any real feeling for her; at best, he was was doing it out of pity. A part of her didn't want this, because it wasn't her Jack and he was doing it for the wrong reasons. But she was too tired to push him away. Everything ached, her head, her tight throat, her chest. His presence soothed her, in spite of everything.

Everything was quiet. The tears kept coming in waves, but she pretended that if she kept her face buried against her knees, he couldn't see them. It felt good, somehow, to let it all out. And the warmth of his arm around her was surprisingly comforting.

She wasn't sure how much time elapsed when O'Neill's headset suddenly crackled to life. They both started at the sudden noise and he quickly moved his arm away to fiddle with it. She let go of her knees and straightened; it felt like she was waking up from a strange dream.

"Yes, sir?" he said into the radio. He stayed silent for a moment, and she could hear Hammond's voice in the earphone. "With permission, I'll bring Walsh back to her quarters before I join you. ... No, I don't think that'll be necessary, sir. ... Okay. Oh, and sir? Could we find out who was supposed to warn her about the exercise? Thank your, sir."

He got up with a long, irritated sigh. She got to her feet as well; at least she wasn't light-headed anymore. He was still watching her, but his gaze wasn't angry or threatening.

"Ready to go?"

She made sure her face was dry; there was nothing she could do about the swollen eyes, but hopefully that would be less conspicuous. They went to the elevator, down to level 25 and then to her quarters without exchanging a word or a glance. For the life of her, she couldn't think of anything more she could say to him; she'd already said too much.

"Well..." he said uneasily when they got to her room.

"Yes... I suppose MacKenzie will want to see us soon enough..."

"I guess. See you there, then."

She nodded, and entered her room, welcoming the darkness. His footsteps faded as she all but dropped down onto the bed. For the first time in months, sleep came fast.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

O'Neill sat in the dark, staring at the TV without seeing it. He eyed the Scotch at the bottom of his tumbler for a moment, and downed it. There was no escape, though. The alcohol hardly took his mind off it. Damn her. He thought he was done with her.

When he'd heard that she'd died, he'd only felt cold rage. There was no reason to grieve for her. She was the one who had left without as much as an explanation. Her stupid, pathetic death at the hands of some kind of zombie was her damn fault for being obsessed with science above all else, for being some sort of psychopath who thought that those experiments were ever okay.

But that was the problem. Now he couldn't be sure that she really was a psychopath, that she was really devoid of feelings and ethics. And those doubts were all down to Walsh. He'd known a cynical person who hadn't ever showed an ounce of vulnerability, who laughed at romance, scoffed at having a family. And then there was Walsh – trying to hold it together, but broken, sick, anxious and grieving. At first all of that had seemed unreal, faked, but now... now he was starting to believe her.

Sure, it was easier to convince himself that it was all an act, that she was trying to attract sympathies for her personal agenda, but his gut shouted at him that it wasn't true. Maggie wouldn't ever have used that kind of tactic: she'd always contrived to look strong. What if Walsh was just the same person as Maggie, but pushed to a point where all her barriers started crumbling?

He hated that idea. If she hadn't just randomly left because she'd found some science project way more interesting than him, then it meant he'd probably said or done something – or not said it, not done enough – that had made her decide to leave. And then she'd been alone with a bunch of stupid kids and crazy scientists, and they'd let her let her create a monster. It didn't make sense to blame himself for that, but deep down in his gut he felt that he'd played some kind of role in it.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. And all this turmoil came just from the fact that she'd poured out her soul to him. Oh, she probably wasn't quite herself. Grief and happy pill withdrawal did have a tendency to make one a little sensitive. He'd been like that, after Charlie had died and Sara had left. He could actually relate to her, and that freaked him out, too. He reached for the phone and dialled.

"Hmbrmgl," said Daniel's voice as he picked up, several rings later.

"Daniel? It's me."

"This had better be good."

"Huh."

"Jack, if you've just woken me up to say 'huh', I'm going to march through Colorado Springs in my pajamas, rip out your throat and stick it up your _mikta_."

"Yeah, okay, I'm sorry."

Daniel fell silent for a moment. "What's wrong?" O'Neill heard him fumble around, probably to get his glasses.

"I've been thinking."

"I hope you didn't sprain anything."

"Daniel. This isn't easy."

Daniel let out a massive sigh. "Okay, okay, I'm listening."

"I left something out when I was talking to you about Walsh, the other day."

"Uh-huh?"

"Well... we had a thing going. I kinda liked her."

"Pretty much what you said last time."

"No, Daniel, I _liked_ her. As in, you know..."

"I know what?"

"Do I need to spell it out?"

There was a pause. "When was that? Weren't you still with–"

"Nothing happened when I was with Sara."

Nothing had happened, but it had already been there; he was pretty sure even Sara sensed that he'd been... distracted, sometimes. It definitely hadn't helped their marriage.

"Huh. But afterwards..."

"Yeah, when Maggie came to help me with the withdrawal after the Abydos mission... ah, you know."

At least he hoped Daniel got the general gist of it. He didn't have a word to explain their relationship, sort of between friends and lovers, with a bunch of things left unsaid, and him left with the feeling he liked her a lot more than she did him.

"Yeah, I get the picture... I think. So, was it some kind of... comfort, after all the stuff that had happened?"

"You know, you sound just like a shrink. Have you seen a doctor about that?"

"Jaaa-ack!"

"I dunno, Daniel! I mean, she was always sort of detached, I didn't really know where I stood with her. Maybe for her it was just some distraction or experiment or whatever."

Daniel snorted. "You sound like a woman."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh come on, as if you'd never heard a woman go 'I don't know where I stand with him, he's detached, maybe he's just using me for sex'. It's a classic."

"Gee thanks, Daniel, I feel so much better about it now."

"Ah, sorry. She does strike me as the type who... um... doesn't give away much of what's going on inside. From what I've seen of the alternate one, anyway."

"Yeah. I keep on wondering how similar they are. Maybe they're basically the same, but the one over here was just... driven nuts..."

"By you?" Daniel's ability to read between the lines was spooky, sometimes.

"Who knows?"

"Um, you know, the Walsh we have on base technically spent much more time with a Jack O'Neill than yours did. If your theory was correct, she'd be the one who went nuts."

"I guess."

"I suppose your call has something to do with the fact that you were stuck with her for an hour in a storage room." Daniel yawned loudly as he spoke.

"You heard about that, then."

"Did anything happen?"

"She was pretty upset when she saw Teal'c shoot me during the exercise. Reminded her of what had happened in her dimension. She was there when he killed Carter and the other me. And then when her Daniel... killed himself, za'tarc style."

"I'm not surprised they put her on pills after that. I mean... imagine losing all of SG-1 within weeks."

O'Neill sighed and ran a hand across his face. "It's worse than that. She and her O'Neill slept together." He paused for a moment. "Sounds like she had some pretty strong feelings for him."

"Funny how you always seem to get lucky with women from alternate universes."

"What?"

"What?"

Daniel had mumbled out his comment quickly, as if to himself, but O'Neill was pretty sure he'd heard that right. The little bastard.

"Well it's better than having Princess Sarcophagus falling in love with me. Or Anise, for that matter."

"Yeah but Freya kissed _you_."

"You don't need to remind me." He shuddered. Those few days had been difficult enough without Freya's little out of left field contribution.

"Anyhow... I guess it's not an easy situation for you."

"Now that's a euphemism. And she's going to be there in the SGC, all the time."

"Well, it's a big building and she'll probably be in the labs. I'm pretty sure you'll be able to avoid her if you want to."

"Why wouldn't I want to?"

"Well, uh, you still have strong feelings for..."

"I do not..."

"... her that you may want to resolve in some way."

"... have feelings for Walsh!"

God he was insufferable, couldn't he just shut up for once?

"Then why have you been all moody and aggressive ever since she got here, and why are you watching her every move?"

"Because, how are we supposed to trust her?"

"Technically that's General Hammond's problem, not yours. There are a lot of people in the SGC who will keep an eye on her in case she turns out to be... evil. It's not your responsibility, Jack."

O'Neill grunted. Daniel kinda had a point, but... well, he didn't want to let her out of his sight just yet. If she turned around and did something horrible, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

"In any case, MacKenzie wants us to discuss it until we've got to the bottom of it, so I guess we'll be meeting in his office until the end of eternity."

"Or maybe you should just be honest with her and get stuff out in the open once and for all. The sooner MacKenzie is satisfied, the sooner you can move on."

"Yeah, the only flaw in your plan is that I'd have to let MacKenzie in on private stuff. Not gonna happen."

"Well... I'm sorry Jack. I wish I could help, but I really have no idea how."

"That's okay, I'll think of something. Anyway... it's two in the morning, I'd better try and catch some Zs."

"Yeah, same here."

"Right. Then... you know..."

"Yeah. I'm here, if... well..."

"Thanks. 'Night." He hung up.

Daniel had helped a bit. O'Neill still felt confused as hell, but at least he had someone on his side. Someone understood. Well, he was pretty sure Teal'c would have understood too, but he would have probably just watched silently and raised his eyebrow a lot. Or said something which was very wise, but so cryptic it was impossible to understand.

O'Neill finally stumbled to the bed, tired, a bit drunk and still wired. When sleep came, it was restless.

* * *

Walsh woke with a start. She knew that she'd been dreaming, but she couldn't remember anything. Probably fortunate; her dreams didn't tend to be pleasant, lately. The lights were still on and she was still dressed – she'd just gone straight to sleep after that exhausting conversation with O'Neill. The clock on the wall read 0435 hours. If she was right, she'd practically slept twelve hours. Unusual, but much needed.

She made her way to the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Her face was pale and gaunt. Not unexpected, considering the circumstances, but she'd looked healthier. Between the grief and the medication-induced nausea she'd also lost a few more pounds than she could afford.

With that thought in mind she got the lift to the mess hall after briefly washing up. Not that she exactly felt hungry, but it would at least give her something to do. She'd avoided it lately, not really liking the way people watched her. The story of the monster-making Professor Walsh had probably got around, somehow.

As expected, the mess was quite empty. She selected cereal, an apple, and stared longingly at the coffee pot. She had to be in caffeine withdrawal on top of everything else. But Janet had said that it may trigger headaches, and she was probably right. Walsh sighed.

"Need any help?"

She turned, a smile pulling at her lips before she could stop it. Daniel was standing beside her, looking a bit sleepy, but generally friendly.

"I was debating whether or not to take coffee," she told him.

"Hm, that seems like too deep a philosophical question before five in the morning."

He made a beeline for the coffee pot and filled two cups. "If you don't drink it, I probably will," he explained, pointing at one of the cups.

Well, it looked like they were going to be having coffee together; she certainly wasn't going to refuse. When Daniel had finished piling food on his plate, he joined her and led her towards what she supposed was his usual table.

Daniel placed the extra cup of coffee in front of her. "So... you're an early bird."

"Well the day usually starts pretty early in the SGC."

"Yeah, well, I wish I could've got a couple more hours' sleep." He yawned hugely and slurped his coffee.

Walsh smiled fondly. "You really shouldn't spend your nights on translations, Dr Jackson."

Daniel's eyes glazed over as he stared blankly at his pancakes. "Well it wasn't exactly my choice. I got a call during the night, and then I was awake, couldn't get back to sleep, so came back here to work on a treaty that should actually have been finished yesterday."

Walsh laughed softly. Daniel looked up at her, as if he were suddenly awoken by that sound. He gave her a smile and straightened.

"I take it the Daniel in your world also did that sort of thing, huh?"

"Oh yes. And Carter had her fair share of sleepless nights too."

"Jack swears it's why he's going grey."

"He says that, but really it's just because he gave up on the hair dye."

The quip came out before she could even think. Daniel sprayed coffee across the table.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you choke," she said, unsure if she should be amused or contrite.

"Oh god," he said, chuckling and dabbing the table with a napkin. "I just... now I've imagined it!"

"Your imagination is indeed fertile, Daniel Jackson," said a voice behind Walsh.

She turned around, forcing herself to keep calm. Teal'c was coming from the buffet with a huge platter of food. He loomed over her, seeming even more gigantic and fearsome now that she was sitting.

"Oh hey, Teal'c," she heard Daniel say. "Want to join us?"

The man looked at Daniel, then down at her. She would rather have avoided him, but if she was going to be spending a lot of time in the facility that wasn't going to be an option. She gave him a slight encouraging nod.

"Very well," he said, and set his heavy tray down on the table.

It was confusing to have him do something as mundane as have breakfast in his presence, after the sometimes epic games of hide and seek her team had played with him over the years. And above all, it was weird having him sit there after the horrible flashbacks that he'd triggered the day before.

They all set to eat, although the word was quite an exaggeration in her case. Teal'c had a healthy appetite; his tray was laden with scrambled eggs, bacon, waffles, a doughnut, various kinds of fruit. He'd chosen a seat at the end of the table where he could watch both her and Daniel; she had the distinct impression this was some kind of test.

"So, um," said Daniel in a very obvious attempt to break the ice. "I heard you got kind of caught up in our training scenario yesterday."

Not exactly the easiest topic Daniel could have chosen. "I did, and I have to say, I could have done without it."

"I recall your saying that in your dimension, I was an enemy of the Tau'ri," said Teal'c. His voice was rich and solemn. It didn't sound threatening, simply very calm and confident.

"Yes." She toyed with her cup. "Yes, you were. And the situation I saw yesterday was... reminiscent of something I would have rather not gone through again."

She knew he was watching her, she could feel his eyes bore into her as if he were trying to read her very heart. This wasn't an enemy. She had to etch it into her brain: this wasn't the First Prime of Apophis, this was Teal'c. If he'd been with SG-1 for nearly four years, it was perhaps thanks to him that they were all alive.

"It must be challenging to see me as something other than an enemy of your people."

She turned and looked him squarely in the eye. "It is. But I'll get there, with a bit of time."

"I think I'm the only one here who never met an alternate version of myself," said Daniel, his mouth full of pancakes.

"Really? Our Daniel had quite an adventure with his double, when he first found the mirror."

"He did? Did he get the temporal failure thing?"

"At the end of his stay, yes. He was lucky to get out alive. In fact he wasn't even sure what had happened to him until Carter figured it all out."

"I'm not surprised," said Daniel with a small smile. "So was that alternate universe very different from yours?"

"You're much too curious, Doctor Jackson," she told him, picking at her food some more. "In every possible universe, I believe."

"Have you had the possibility to study your alter-ego's life, Doctor Walsh?" asked Teal'c suddenly.

"I have. I suppose you could say she was also much too curious."

"And you are not?"

"It's another kind of curiosity. It sounds like she... I don't know. Like she was trying to push some kind of boundary, or prove something to the world."

"I believe that our alter-egos are at once infinitely similar and different from ourselves," said Teal'c.

"How's that?"

"At the core, we are the same person as our other selves. But the experiences we have, the choices we must make, render us unique."

"How can you be so incredibly deep so incredibly early in the morning?" asked Daniel in a slightly whiny tone.

"Well, I certainly agree with you, Teal'c," she said.

"Now try and convince Jack of it," mumbled Daniel.

Teal'c cocked his head; Walsh couldn't make out what that meant, but she suspected it was his way of saying "fat chance". At least, that's how she felt about that ever happening.

"Anyway," said Daniel. "In both the other dimensions we came into contact with, there was a Teal'c, but he was always on Apophis' side."

"How did you come to join SG-1?" asked Walsh.

"O'Neill's valour and determination in battle convinced me that I perhaps had a chance of freeing my people from the false gods. That is when I decided to join the Tau'ri in their battle against the Goa'uld."

"I dunno if this happened to you," said Daniel, "but it was when we were all rounded up with other potential hosts for Apophis's children."

Walsh nodded. "In our dimension, Colonel O'Neill sent me to ask for Teal'c's help. He said he had a feeling about him..." She shrugged. "It didn't work. If anything, what I said seemed to anger him even more." She'd obviously chosen the wrong approach, if O'Neill in this dimension had been able to convince him. So many forks in the road...

"I do not mean any disrespect, Doctor Walsh, but I doubt that a woman would have been able to turn me from Apophis at that time. I was convinced by O'Neill because he was a warrior."

She couldn't decide if she felt insulted or relieved. The Jaffa were notoriously sexist, after all, though she hadn't known much about their social customs back in those days. They'd got it wrong, but at least perhaps it wasn't her fault.

"Jack and Teal'c have a... uh... warrior bonding thing going on," explained Daniel. "I doubt that Teal'c would've listened to me, if I'd gone to have a word with him."

"Indeed."

Walsh couldn't help but smile into her cup of coffee. Daniel was trying to smooth things over, and apparently Teal'c had a rather good understanding of her situation. Small moments like these made her feel less lonely, though she didn't want to read too much into them. It probably wouldn't last.

"But, uh, I hear Kawalsky's not really happy about working alongside a Jaffa," said Daniel.

"He'll come around. Kawalsky's stubborn, but he's generally reasonable. I haven't had much of a chance to speak to him lately, but I'll try to have a word with him."

"That would be nice. I mean, I guess it's not easy for the two of you, living in a different dimension and alongside someone you'd been fighting for several years but..."

"It's up to us to adapt," she said with a firm nod.

"Well, and us to you."

He smiled at her, and she knew from his expression that he was sincere. It was moving, and she did her best not to show it, focusing on her cereal instead. She'd cried in front of Janet and O'Neill, and that was enough for a lifetime.

"Okay, uh, I think I'd better get going," said Daniel after a while, getting up from his seat. "We're due to leave in three hours and I still have that treaty to read over."

"Of course," she said, collecting herself. "Thank you for keeping me company, Dr Jackson."

"You can call me Daniel."

That kind of slightly naive trust was so typical of Daniel that she wanted to cry. God, she missed him.

"You can call me Maggie, in that case," she said softly.

"Okay. See you later, Teal'c!" With that, he sauntered out of the cafeteria, temporarily energised by the caffeine, if Walsh was any judge.

She ate a few more spoonfuls, feeling Teal'c's gaze on her. She looked up after a while and found him watching her, silent, thoughtful. He'd been doing it ever since he sat down, but it still didn't feel comfortable.

"I saw you during the exercise yesterday, Doctor Walsh," he said at last.

That was stating the obvious; they'd stared at each other for a good while before he'd gone off. She raised her eyebrows, unsure where this was going.

"The look on your face when I shot O'Neill with the intar bullet was worth a thousand words."

And then he stood up, collecting his tray, and bowed his head. She bowed back automatically, and watched him walk away. She wondered what he'd thought he'd seen.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Another day, another torture. Yesterday's torture had been the an apparently endless treaty negotiation dinner. Daniel was the only one who could get around in their language; the rest of them had just nodded and eaten not particularly pleasant food and tried to be polite. And then the moment he'd stepped out of the gate, O'Neill had been told that he had to meet with MacKenzie and Walsh in the afternoon.

So now he was standing in front of her door in the guest quarters, hesitating.

He'd walked past Kawalsky on his way there, but they hadn't spoken. At best they exchanged wary glares. Part of him wished that he could just make friends with Charles again; he missed a Kawalsky in his life. It probably wouldn't even be difficult... if they ignored the fact that neither of them was exactly the person the other had known.

But he wasn't keen to get friendly with someone who may die pretty soon. Carter didn't know if Kawalsky and Walsh were there for good, or if they only had a few months or years before they started failing. Seeing a close friend die a second time around didn't sound like something O'Neill wanted to do again in a hurry.

And speaking of things he didn't want to do... With a sigh, he knocked. This was probably a bad idea, but he was running out of options.

Time seemed to drag on terribly slowly, and he was sorely tempted to leave. Just when he was about to turn tail, she opened her door. Walsh looked a little better than the other day; maybe more colour to her face, or less rings under her eyes. She seemed taken aback, but he didn't give her any time to ask questions.

"Let me guess: you weren't expecting me to be here."

"Good guess," she replied, puzzled.

"Can I come in?"

She motioned him into the small room wordlessly, though he felt her watching his every move. Her room was the usual setup: a desk, a chair, a bed, chest of drawers, small ensuite bathroom. Decoration was minimal, but at least there was a TV. It barely looked lived in; she'd always been a neat freak. Well, Maggie had.

"I'm here about this afternoon's torture session with MacKenzie. I don't think it's doing you or me any good."

"I agree," she replied, casually leaning against the desk. "And don't worry, Colonel, I wasn't planning on telling him about the last conversation we had."

"Me either."

"Do you think he found out about what happened?"

"MacKenzie? Nah. He works off base most of the time, so unless Hammond told him..."

She sagged with relief; he knew how she felt. "Anyhoo... any ideas to get him off our case?"

"Off our case?"

"You know... to stop the so-called group therapy." _Couples therapy_, his brain supplied, but he ignored it. "Don't tell me you _want_ to continue?"

She snorted. "I'm not masochistic. Why do you think I can help?"

"Cause you're a shrink? And you're supposed to be this profiler or whatever in Special Forces, maybe you know some kind of tactic that I don't."

"Well, he's mainly on our case because you were aggressive towards me," she said, after a while of silent thinking. "I don't think he's really interested in me or my mental health beyond routine evaluations, but I suspect that your behaviour might have raised alarm bells. You're a key member of this organisation, after all."

Oh god, that's what he was worried about. Hammond wouldn't have sent him to a shrink if he hadn't thought he was going off the deep end.

"So," she said, not waiting for him to comment, "I doubt that we can fob him off by telling him we've solved it on our own time, even though it's been over two weeks since the last session."

He sighed and rubbed his face. That stupid diplomatic mission with a bunch of nitpickers had bored him witless, and he hadn't slept properly in days. He wasn't sure he could handle another session with that asshat without saying or doing something to make his case even worse.

"And...?"

"Well, MacKenzie is expecting us to solve our problems in front of him, even if it's incredibly personal and tedious."

"Have I already mentioned how much I hate shrinks?"

"You could talk about it with General Hammond, I imagine he's the one who asked for these sessions."

And that would mean he'd have to tell him about his relationship with Maggie. Could it be worth the embarrassment? Daniel already knew, after all, and it wasn't as if their relationship had broken any regs... but still, he didn't tell the General personal stuff like that.

"But what if it doesn't work?"

"I don't know, Colonel. I still think the best option would be to just tell MacKenzie why you hate her so much. Besides, I had to spill my metaphorical guts in front of him, it would only be fair if you did too."

"Well tough, there's no way I'm telling him squat. Or–"

She raised a hand, cutting him short. "Or me, I got it. It's your dimension, you don't owe me anything. Fine."

Her tone was cold and matter-of-fact; the hardass front was firmly back in place. But something about her statement gave him a twinge of... sadness? Unease? Well it was true, for all she'd revealed, he hadn't shown her anything in return. But then again, could he trust her? Some part of him wanted to, but luckily the rest of him had better judgement.

"I may have an idea," she said after thinking quietly for a moment. "Unless you have any qualms about lying to MacKenzie."

"I'm all ears."

"Give him something personal – anything, even if it's a bit fat lie. He's not used to you opening up and probably doesn't know much about you outside of what might be written in your files. As long as the story is plausible, he'll probably lap it up."

"So, what, I have to invent a reason why I dislike her."

"Yeah. Something that he can't easily check."

O'Neill was drawing a blank, but at least it was the beginning of a plan. That was more than he'd had five minutes back.

"I'll think of something," he said. "Is that it?"

"No, he has to think that you're feeling a strong emotion. Draw on your dislike for her, get angry with me."

His dislike for her... it sounded so strange, coming from her double, and she was so pragmatic about it now. As if she hadn't broken down in tears the other day because... well. Maybe she was able to keep things straight in her head and separate him and the other O'Neill, but it was damn confusing for him.

"Colonel?"

"So basically I get pissed and I... what, tell you why I don't like you? Something plausible."

"Right."

"And that'll be enough."

"Well there needs to be some kind of reconciliation afterwards. MacKenzie wants us to clear the air and start fresh, or something similar. But don't rush it – if we don't have time for that, if the occasion doesn't arise, we keep that for next week."

"Fine."

"Okay. I'll try to guide you during the sessions. If you see me rest my head on my hand, continue in that direction. If I close my hand into a fist, you're on the wrong track."

It was like a battle plan, and he wasn't sure if he should be impressed or downright frightened by Walsh's ability to figure out a manipulation scenario as easily as this. He wondered if Maggie had been the same. She certainly knew which of his buttons to push to get a reaction.

They soon got to MacKenzie's office, and he greeted them with the creepy smile and that patronising tone O'Neill hated so much. Settling down in his office with Walsh felt much less awkward, strangely. He made a point of not looking at her and school his face into a neutral mask, trying to remember where they'd been at the last time. It felt like that was ages ago.

"So, Colonel O'Neill, Ms Walsh, have you had any opportunities to talk during the past two weeks."

"Not really," said O'Neill.

"No," said Walsh, practically at the same time.

He winced inside. That was a bit of a giveaway, but MacKenzie didn't seem to have picked up on it.

"Why not?"

There was a pause as O'Neill waited for her to answer. When she didn't, he said: "I have better things to do with my time. Offworld missions, writing reports, clipping my toenails, that kind of thing."

"And as you may know, I was unwell for the past few weeks," said Walsh tartly. There was accusation in her voice.

"Ah, yes, withdrawal from an SSRI, I hear. One that you had started taking when the Colonel O'Neill in your dimension died."

She gave an impatient little snort. "And when Carter and Daniel died. Right after General Hammond was killed and Maybourne took his place. It was a stressful time."

"Of course, of course," said MacKenzie in a sort of placating tone that still managed to sound condescending. Then he turned to O'Neill. "Well, Colonel, have you had time to think about what Ms Walsh revealed about her relationship with your alter ego?"

"I don't really care what she did with some other version of myself, doc. Not my fault if other O'Neills have bad taste and poor judgement."

Okay, so he wasn't exactly proud of that nasty comment, but it might get the ball rolling. Walsh shifted so her face rested in her open hand. So far so good.

"Bad taste, how do you mean?" asked MacKenzie.

"Well, Walsh was a stuck-up obsessive-compulsive unethical power hungry manipulative bitch." That felt good to say. And it described Maggie well, at least in her worst days.

"And why did that bother you?"

"Well why do you think?!" He noticed Walsh's hand slide into a fist. Okay so no sarcasm, no rhetorical questions, tempting as it was. He took a deep breath. "Because I had to work with her. She was experimenting on young recruits, trying to make them better and stronger and faster. I don't like that kind of stuff."

"Why not?"

God, he was infuriating, but O'Neill could tell that he was curious. He'd stopped with the fake grin and was looking at him intently. "Because I have morals? Principles? She didn't. She'd just walk all over people to get what she wanted."

"Is that why you and Dr Walsh got into arguments in the early 90ies?"

Oh swell, he'd got hold of that piece of information from his record, no doubt. "Damn right it was."

Well, it was mostly that. Maybe sometimes he'd pushed it, though. Back in the day, she was far from sewing bits of demon together or getting her recruits hooked on pills. He may have been looking for reasons to disagree with her because there was something about their verbal jousts that just... well. Now wasn't the time to think about that.

"But you've got into arguments with a lot of people over the years, and never displayed the behaviour that you've shown this lady now."

He shrugged. "What can I say, maybe we're just made to hate each other's guts."

Walsh's hand turned to a fist again. He wondered if she was disagreeing with him or if she was trying to get him to change directions. And then it dawned on him that if he left it at that, irreconcilable differences, they'd never be able to go forward, would they? Damn.

"Colonel, sometimes people that trigger such strong reactions remind us of a traumatic episode. Do you think this could be the case?"

Oh trust him to go all Freudian. Was he going to try and get them to talk about their childhoods now? Jesus. Walsh's hand slid open, but he had no idea what to say.

"A traumatic episode?"

"Someone who harmed you, perhaps?"

He had it. It wasn't even that much of a stretch. "Well, I had a teacher in eighth grade. She was... strict and sarcastic and domineering. And she wore the same earrings." He'd made up the earrings part, but it sounded like something that might work.

"The same earrings, you say?"

"Yeah, little pearls. There was... something similar in general. That rigid way of speaking and acting, the way Walsh would control and chastise the kids she was training, always wanting them to be better. It drove me nuts when I saw it."

He could see MacKenzie was eager for more. "Did you ever get punished by this teacher? Chastised?"

"All the time."

"Did she want to make you better?"

"Whatever her definition of better was, yeah."

"And how did that make you feel?"

Oh god, that question again. "Bad?" Walsh shot him a look and raised her eyebrows slightly, and he did his best not to roll his eyes back at her. "It was humiliating and uncalled for. I thought it was unfair. I thought it was wrong."

"Did you tell her that?"

"I was thirteen, I didn't talk back quite as much in those days."

"So... do you think that maybe you projected the bottled up anger and resentment on Dr Walsh?"

"I guess it's possible."

"Has Ms Walsh here given you any cause to feel this same shame and humiliation? Does she have the same domineering attitude you describe?"

"Not exactly."

"And I don't see any pearl earrings." MacKenzie smiled, as if they were all sharing a good joke. Ugh.

"Well, old habits die hard."

"Why don't you tell Ms Walsh how she makes you feel? Clear the air."

He glanced over at her and could tell she was expecting him to do it. It was part of the plan, after all.

"Fine." He turned towards her, but couldn't quite bring himself to look her directly in the eye. "Walsh, you piss me off. Every time I hear your voice, I feel like I'm this kid again and I don't like it." God it sounded so lame, but he could see MacKenzie nodding in encouragement. "I thought I was all in the past, but obviously I'm not over it yet. I don't like having you around as a... reminder."

Their eyes had met while they were speaking; he went quiet when he realised it, suddenly feeling exposed. God, he wasn't sure if he'd been spinning a line or being sincere just then. Maybe she could tell, too, because her eyes were glimmering, nearly... gentle, if that was possible for her.

"Colonel," she said. "I know that this isn't coming from the right woman, from the one who actually hurt you... but I would like to apologise for upsetting you. I for one don't want to hurt you, don't enjoy hurting you. I'm sorry that I remind you of these things."

As apologies went, it was a pretty good one. Her voice had been soft and kind, betraying hints of emotion. He was pretty sure neither of them was talking about the teacher thing anymore. His mouth was dry; he looked away from her.

"Colonel, do you have anything to say to that?"

This was the crunch. He had to get this right so that MacKenzie would leave them alone. He looked back up, not at her, at best towards her. "Well, give me some time. I can't forgive you right away, but... now I've realised why I'm doing this, I guess I don't see it the same way anymore." Which was total bullshit, but he sensed MacKenzie would love that kind of line. "And... I'm sorry I gave you all the attitude." And maybe, just maybe, that was a little bit true.

"All right," said MacKenzie. "Will you shake on it? A peace gesture?"

They both stood up and shook hands. It was awkward, very unfamiliar. He'd touched Maggie in all kinds of different ways in the time he'd known her, but he didn't remember handshakes. Her grip was firm, but her hands were cool and a little clammy. He wasn't sure his felt much nicer.

"Okay. I think we'll end here for today, you did some good work. Colonel, I want a follow-up session in two weeks, in private, to discuss how your feelings are evolving. Ms Walsh, I will continue to see you as the SGC sees fit."

"Can we go now?" asked O'Neill. He'd stepped away from Walsh, feeling vulnerable in a way he couldn't explain. Trying to figure out what was real or not during the session was making his head hurt, and an unpleasant empty aching feeling lingered in his chest.

"You may go," said MacKenzie.

They walked out of the office, forced to shake the shrink's hand as he escorted them out. MacKenzie closed the door behind them, and they walked down the corridor in silence.

"That went well," she said as they turned the corner.

"I guess, yeah." The victory might seem sweeter when he got away from her. All the feelings that had come up during that little apology scene still nagged at him.

"He looked as if he'd found the Holy Grail," said Walsh. "I have to admit you were pretty inspired."

"I still don't like the fact that he went prying into my childhood."

"You got the result you wanted, didn't you?"

"Yeah..."

"And you didn't reveal the real reason you're unhappy with her. Right?"

"Well I wasn't as traumatised by tyrannical schoolteachers as I made him believe, that's for sure."

"In that case, you've got the best result possible while revealing the least personal information. It seems to me that you couldn't have done better."

Incredibly, her reasoning soothed him. Maggie used to have the same effect, the same knack for presenting facts in a certain way to make them more acceptable. Was that a shrink thing? Or manipulation? Maybe that was the same.

"Anyhow, it looks like you've seen the last of me for a while," she said as they got into the elevator.

"Oh, trust me, I'll be around. Got to come by and make sure you're not building a Goa'uld robot in the labs or something."

"Well, that's your prerogative." The elevator stopped at level 25 and she stepped out. "Goodbye, Colonel."

He nodded curtly, watching as she walked away. She was so calm and collected now, compared to that hour they'd spent in the storage room. It still made him wonder which part of it was an act, the cool front or the vulnerable side. The fact that she was so good at manipulating a therapy session didn't exactly make him more trusting, even though she'd helped him. She'd helped herself too, after all.

Still... the way she'd looked at him, the apology... that was going to bug him for a while.

* * *

General Hammond was having a rather good day. No major threats to any of the SG teams in the last week. Dr Jackson had managed to get them a pretty nice deal with the treaty he'd recently brokered. And Colonel O'Neill finally seemed to be less irritable.

In fact, Hammond thought he might have had a hand in that. It hadn't been entirely intentional, really, at least not the part where O'Neill and Walsh had ended up in a room together for an hour – that had just been an added bonus. He'd wanted to check Walsh's loyalties, and putting her in the middle of that exercise had been enlightening. Perhaps it was cruel to make her relive something that Hammond now truly believed had been traumatic for her, but he had to be sure. Za'tarc detectors were all very well and good, but at the end of the day he preferred to rely on something a little less theoretical.

Dr MacKenzie had also called him to announce that he believed that he'd found out the key to O'Neill and Walsh's dislike, and that they'd solved their problems. Hammond didn't buy it for a second. Well, he didn't believe that O'Neill had told Dr MacKenzie the truth, anyway, especially not after only two sessions. But since the Colonel seemed to have got a grip over his mood, and perhaps even managed to cooperate with Walsh during those sessions, he wasn't going to push it.

He knocked on Walsh's door and entered when she invited him in. The room was one of the smaller VIP suites, but he imagined it was better than the bleak isolation rooms where they'd kept Walsh and Kawalsky at first. Walsh stood at attention as soon as he entered.

"At ease, Doctor," said Hammond. "You're not in the Air Force anymore."

She relaxed a little. "It's going to be hard to shake the habit, sir."

Hammond looked at her for a moment. Ten days ago Walsh had seemed such a mess that he'd wondered if a trip to a mental ward would be necessary. He hadn't really wanted to let her out of his sight, though, especially not with all she knew. But Dr Fraiser had said Walsh would get better, and as usual she'd been quite right; Hammond could tell Walsh was on the mend.

"How are you feeling, Dr Walsh?"

"I'm not in top form, General, but things are improving."

"Dr Fraiser told me that you'd still need a couple of weeks' rest before you could start working full time. She did suggest you could start working as a mission consultant."

"Sir?" Hammond was pretty sure he could see enthusiasm in her eyes.

"You will be using the knowledge you have of various addresses to help us recognise friendly and hostile worlds, as well as actively taking part in the search for the planet where you landed."

She nodded. "I imagine that you may also need my knowledge of Goa'uld biology."

"I will, Doctor, but I understand that it's a delicate matter and that you need to be in full possession of your faculties."

She smiled grimly. "Yes. I doubt that I could concentrate enough right now to be able to be perfectly accurate."

"Then you work on getting better, Doctor. It's an invaluable resource for us."

"Of course." There was a hint of sarcasm in her tone. Hammond guessed that she didn't like being kept around chiefly because of some vital information she possessed, but that's how things were. The truth was, he wasn't sure what they would have done with her if she didn't have anything to contribute to the SGC. She was still a potential liability.

"For the time being, we'll give you some information on planets we're planning to visit. You'll be working with Major Kawalsky on this. Which reminds me, are you planning on enlisting again?"

She gave a derisive snort. "Don't worry, sir, I know my chances wouldn't be good. I was thinking of retirement anyway."

"Well, I can't hide that it would make things easier on you and on us if you didn't. On the other hand, you do need an official identity. The Pentagon was able to keep Professor Walsh's death very quiet, and Major Davis believes that it would be rather simple to pass off her death as a mistake in the paperwork."

She stared at him, opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head slightly.

"Yes, Doctor, I also thought that it sounded strange. But Major Davis pointed out that Professor Walsh had no next of kin and nobody to claim her belongings, to the point where everything she had is either frozen in the bank or sealed away in the small flat she had in Sunnydale. These belongings would rightfully be yours, if we went ahead with the identity change. It sounds like quite a good deal to me."

She blinked. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Doctor, did you have any living family in your dimension?"

She shook her head. "But I had friends. And a will."

"Well, Professor Walsh didn't seem to have anticipated her own demise. And it may be possible that people who knew here are unaware of her death; everything was hushed up considerably, we're even having trouble locating where and when she was buried."

She smiled weakly. "Well, I suppose that's to my advantage."

"I hear that you and Colonel O'Neill solved some of your problems."

"Yes. The Colonel is aware of my relationship with his alter-ego. And we realised during our last session together that he'd been very aggressive towards me because I triggered bad memories."

Bad memories, huh. Well that was probably true, but Hammond still wondered about the particulars. He was pretty sure it was something very personal, or else O'Neill would have already told him by now.

Walsh seemed uneasy as the silence drew out. "Anyhow, I have no desire to antagonise the Colonel, or anyone else in this base, sir."

"I'm glad to hear it. Well, I'll let you rest, doctor, and you can start work with Major Kawalsky tomorrow. In the meantime, I'll get Major Davis to sort out the paperwork for your identification."

"Yes, sir. And thank you."

He nodded and walked out, mulling over their conversation, trying to figure the woman out. She seemed keen to have something to do, and he couldn't blame her: being locked up below ground with nothing to do couldn't be much fun, and he didn't think they'd be letting her out of their sight for a while yet. It was also encouraging that he could see, well, expressions on her face. The rigidity, the control that she'd exhibited at first – and the haughtiness – had been rather unsettling.

Now there was something more human, more alive in those cool eyes. If she really was their ally, and if her mental health didn't prove to be a problem, he was fairly sure that that they'd be able to integrate her into the SGC. God knew they needed any help they could get against the Goa'uld.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"So Carter, whatcha working on now?"

Carter started, nearly dropping her soldering iron, as Colonel O'Neill entered her laboratory without warning. She gave a small smile and pulled her goggles off.

"Still the naquadah reactor, sir. I think I can boost it by fifteen percent if I just interface it with the–"

"Ah!" He shook a finger at her.

"Sorry, sir."

"You know we ship out in two hours?"

"Sir?"

"I'd like to leave on time, is all," he said with a slightly condescending smirk.

She slapped on a fake smile. "Yes, sir, we will."

So sometimes she got a little caught up in her work and had to rush to the locker room without having lunch. It wasn't as if it didn't happen to Daniel, too. At least _she_ remembered to sleep and didn't spend whole diplomatic missions yawning. Usually.

"Good." He turned to leave, but something seemed to catch his eye. "Whoa. Is this supposed to do that?"

Carter saw what he was looking at and cringed. She'd been measuring the activity of the various dog-tags that morning, comparing their decay rates. Walsh's hadn't changed at all, probably because her counterpart never had any dog-tags in their dimension. Kawalsky's were undergoing steadily increasing fluctuations, and Colonel O'Neill's were giving off impressive heat surges. She'd left them hanging around in their heat-proof foam, and as the Colonel stood close to the tags, they actually turned red-hot.

"Uh, yes, sir, kind of."

"Really?"

He came closer to the glowing tag. She approached too, uneasiness creeping up unpleasantly along her spine. Then again, General Hammond had instructed her not to say anything whilst Colonel O'Neill was working through his differences with Walsh. That seemed to be done. Carter had always thought that he needed to know about it anyway.

"It's temporal entropic failure happening on..." She considered using a technical term and thought better of it. "Well, on stainless steel, actually."

"This looks like an ID tag," said the Colonel. For once – now that he wasn't _meant_ to know – he seemed curious.

"It is, sir," said Carter, clearing her throat.

Then again, she didn't really want to be the origin of a new spat between the Colonel and Walsh, especially now that Walsh was on the brink of explaining the technology that had allowed people in her dimension to remove Goa'uld symbiotes. Walsh had been working on this for the last couple weeks and was scheduled to give her first presentation to the General and several medical staff members the next day, if memory served. Now maybe wasn't the best time...

"From Walsh's dimension?" The Colonel was bending over the smouldering piece of metal, his eyes scrunched up against the glare and heat.

"Sir, it's really not safe for you to get that close," said Carter, seeing the tag fluctuate from red-hot to white-hot. It seemed that being this close to its counterpart from this dimension was causing the tag to degenerate even faster.

"Looks like it's getting worse," he said, taking a step back. The brilliant white faded to red again. Carter prayed that he wouldn't pick up on it, but she seemed to be out of luck. "How come it cooled off when I stepped away?"

"Well... you see, Colonel, apparently when two objects from different dimensions are in each other's presence, the duplicate suffers molecular failure. In the case of steel, the failure causes a movement in the atoms that make up the molecules. This causes an energy surge that heats the metal."

He looked at her blankly. Maybe she could put him off with scientific jargon after all.

"Hey, what's going on in here?" Daniel had just come in. He immediately took in the glowing dog-tag. "What's that?"

"Some kind of ID tag that's doing the temporal failure thing when I get close to it," said Colonel O'Neill.

Carter gritted her teeth, feeling that all attempts to cover up were now doomed, unless she managed to stop Daniel from thinking out loud.

"Wow, that's impressive. You sure it's safe, Sam?" asked Daniel, looking at the tag with interest. "Who does it belong to?"

Carter opened her mouth and closed it again. She hated lying to Daniel or the Colonel, but General Hammond had been quite clear about it. That had to come first.

"I'm not really meant to say."

"Huh?" went Daniel.

Colonel O'Neill raised his eyebrows. "Carter?"

"It's kind of classified, sir." The horrible cold sweat of awkward situations was forming on her forehead and palms. Great.

"Oh!" exclaimed Daniel in what Carter supposed was a sudden realisation.

"Oh?" asked the Colonel, who probably recognised that sound. "Daniel, care to share?"

Carter made a face at Daniel and shook her head lightly. The Colonel didn't seem to notice, he was looking at Daniel and waiting for him to say something, but Daniel definitely picked up on it.

"Oh, er, I mean, ah... well, classified material... it's not really our place to pry. Is it, Jack?"

He'd spoken in the hyper, nervous tone he often used when he was trying to lie. Damn him, he was as bad at this as she was. The Colonel knew that tone by heart and glared at him, then at her.

"What are you two hiding from me?" Then it suddenly seemed to hit him. "If it's getting worse when I'm near it, it's got something to do with me. They're mine?" He moved towards the tags, but they went white-hot again. They were most probably illegible by now, and on the way to melting completely.

"Who brought them here?" asked O'Neill, not detracted from his point by the melted down letters.

"Sir, I'm not meant to–"

"Walsh."

He marched out of the lab in a huff. Carter grimaced as she heard him storm down the corridor, towards the laboratory Dr Walsh had been assigned for the time being.

"Ah crap," muttered Daniel. "Well I guess it was to be expected." He hurried after the Colonel.

Carter followed slowly, not sure if she wanted to see what was going to happen next. Still, it was a relief that she wasn't forced to keep the secret from Colonel O'Neill any longer. Maybe he'd be able to shed some light on this dog-tag situation; the whole thing had been bugging Carter since day one.

"You're gonna explain something to me," Carter heard the Colonel tell Walsh, his voice controlled but very sharp. "Why does Carter have a set of my ID tags back in her lab? Tags from your dimension?"

"What?"

Carter stopped beside Daniel at the door, just in time to catch Walsh's expression. She was sitting at her computer, looking up at the Colonel. She looked very pale and surprised.

"Don't play dumb with me. Why did you have my ID tags on you when you came here?" His voice was getting louder.

"I..." Walsh let out a sigh and shook her head. "Fine. Close the door."

She shot a glance at Carter and Daniel; Carter didn't know where to look, torn between the desire to know – and to support the Colonel in his enquiry – and the feeling that she'd done something wrong. The Colonel followed Walsh's gaze, making Carter feel even more out of place.

"Or, you know, we could just go..." said Daniel quickly.

"No, you know what, Walsh? I think they deserve to know. So why don't you tell us what kind of freak steals tags from their dead CO!"

Daniel groaned and rubbed his hand over his face.

Walsh stood up, scowling. "I didn't steal anything, how d–"

"I always knew you'd been feeding me bullshit," the Colonel cut in. "Tight-knit team my ass, you were just waiting for an occasion to take over!"

Walsh strode towards the Colonel and planted herself in front of him, closer than Carter would ever have dared to go. For a moment, she thought Walsh was going to slap him, but she just stood there, glowering.

"You want an explanation? Fine. But you really don't want me to say this in front of your team, O'Neill. If you've got a half a brain, you'll figure out why." Her voice was surprisingly quiet and controlled, despite the furious expression on her face.

"Jeez. Fine."

Carter really hadn't expected the Colonel to give in like this. She stared dumbly as he turned around, marched to the door and slammed it shut.

"Oh well, I guess we could get coffee," said Daniel.

"What?"

"Or pack, or something."

"But... you saw his face, Daniel..."

There were raised voices in the lab. Carter was pretty sure that the Colonel had just called Walsh a manipulator and she'd called him a dick.

"No, but really, Sam. He can handle her. Or she can handle him."

Carter wasn't so sure. The Colonel wasn't a violent man, but he had a temper; she didn't know what he was capable of if he felt Walsh was a threat to him or to the base. And if she lost control and hit him, well...

"Major Carter, Daniel Jackson. Is something amiss?"

Teal'c had just appeared from god knew where, and given Carter a start.

"Just tell me how the hell you got them before I lose my goddamn patience!" they heard the Colonel shout.

Daniel cleared his throat. "There's a thing with Jack's dog tags... well, the other Jack's dog tags..."

"I am aware of Dr Walsh's having carried them back to this world, Daniel Jackson."

"You are? Huh. Well, Jack just found out. And, well, he's..."

Teal'c nodded knowingly, as if he had some deeper understanding of the situation. Even Daniel... well he hadn't seemed surprised or worried about it at all, had he?

"They were in my flat, okay? I found them after the funeral," Walsh shouted back.

"That office really isn't soundproofed, is it?" mumbled Daniel.

"In your _flat_?!"

"They skidded under my bed! Jack thought he'd lost them offworld and got them replaced ages ago!"

"But why the hell would they be und– Oh."

Oh god. So Kawalsky's comment about a lovers' tiff had been based on something he knew? But they were both on SG-1. There was no way the Colonel, even an alternate one, would do that with a teammate. Surely not. Carter took a deep breath; she felt a little sick.

There was a rumble of sharp words, scolding, bickering. Carter didn't want to hear it anymore. Especially not with Daniel and Teal'c standing there too. Then the room went quiet; an awkward, drawn-out silence fell on the corridor. Carter could practically hear her own heartbeat.

"Soooo, er, what about that coffee?" said Daniel.

Things were starting to make sense. The Colonel knew about Walsh and his alter ego's relationship, and he'd told Daniel. So now Daniel was... what? Trying to smooth things over? To give Walsh and the Colonel some privacy? To spare Carter's feelings?

Just as Carter was about to make an excuse and flee, Colonel O'Neill came out again. He still looked irritated, but also flushed. Carter wondered if it was out of anger or, well, what else? Embarrassment? Or... what had that silence been about, anyway?

"What are you all doing hanging around here?" he snapped. "We're meant to ship out at 1200 hours. Get packing."

"Sir," said Carter automatically. But the Colonel had already stormed off.

Carter glanced at Walsh, unwilling to make direct eye contact with her. Walsh was settling back down at her desk, her face no longer as pale and her breath slightly short.

"Are you okay?" Daniel asked her.

She turned, an annoyed expression on her face, as if he'd disturbed her. "I'm fine, thank you. Show's over."

Carter didn't need telling twice. She gave a curt nod towards Walsh, still trying not to look her in the eye, and fled back towards her lab. This whole thing was leaving a particularly bad taste in her mouth. She had to get her mind onto something else, and fast. It wouldn't do to go into a mission feeling like this.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Kawalsky watched in surprise as Walsh whaled on the punching bag, clearly in a rage. He'd seen her work out and spar a from time to time, but as far as he knew she preferred fighting with words – or a gun – than hand-to-hand. In any case he'd never seen her work through some kind of mood in the training room. When she was in a mood, she usually–

"What the hell are you looking at, Kawalsky?"

She usually picked on innocent bystanders. Oops. He put on his best "I wasn't looking at anything ma'am" face and went back to his weight training. It was too late, though; she strode up to his bench.

"Go on, Kawalsky, say it! Everyone else is gawping at me, I might as well know if I've grown an extra head, or if I suddenly look like some kind of criminal!"

Kawalsky grimaced. "So O'Neill got under your skin again, huh?"

She let out a sound that could have been a bark of laughter or some kind of frustrated growl. "That obvious?"

"Let's just say I wouldn't like to be that punch bag," said Kawalsky.

And it was true. She didn't look like much, but he was pretty sure that what she lacked in upper body strength she made up in sheer meanness. Also, it was a well-known fact that doctors knew how to administer pain just as well as they could heal it.

She grabbed a towel and started dabbing the sweat from her face and shoulders. He didn't know what to say; in fact he didn't really want to get involved in this. The last month or so had been peaceful. SG-1 and SG-8 had even gone out together to help out some Jaffa rebels the previous week, and Kawalsky had some hope of rekindling his old friendship with O'Neill. But if he got into fights with Walsh again...

"Don't worry, Charles, I'm not going to make you pick sides," she said at last. He hated when she did that, it felt like she was reading his mind. "And you're safe, he only has it in for me. I don't think I'll ever convince him I'm not some kind of psychopath."

"What happened?"

She rubbed her face with her towel some more. For a moment, he thought she wasn't going to answer. "Remember Jack had to get some new tags a couple weeks before... you know."

"Yeah, I remember he was pissed about losing 'em."

She nodded. "Well, I found the old ones after the funeral. In my flat."

"Ah."

He'd suspected that they'd been at it again, even though it was a pretty dumb idea within an SG team. Not that doing it during black ops missions was much better, but since they were on "unofficial" missions they'd had more freedom, been much less under scrutiny than in the Stargate Program's flagship team.

"Anyway, I... kept them in my stuff."

She sounded so embarrassed. Not about the flat thing. He knew Walsh well enough by now to know she wasn't all that embarrassed about sex stuff. But keeping Jack's tags for sentimental reasons? It was like admitting to some terrible weakness. As if he himself hadn't kept a bunch of crap Jack or Louis had left him.

"A memento, I get that."

"Well, they found the tags on me when I got here, and for some reason gave them to Carter so that she could study them. O'Neill saw them, and now he thinks I stole them from him after his death."

"What? That's just dumb. Does he know you and Jack...?"

"Yeah, he knows, but I'm not sure he believes me."

"Well if you need a witness..."

"You'd be my witness to convince him Jack and I were having sex?" There was a mischievous glint in her eye.

Kawalsky snickered. "I was thinking more of a character witness. Didn't they ask you about all that in the interrogations, anyway? I mean they asked me some pretty pointed questions about you, I figured they'd got you to tell them about it."

"Of course they asked me, in sordid detail. General Hammond must believe me since he gave me a job here, but O'Neill... I dunno. He acts like I made up the whole story. He even though I I managed to cheat the Za'tarc detector."

"Heh, I managed to keep a couple of... salty things from it. I guess they weren't that important in the grand scheme of things."

Or at least not as important as Walsh's relationship with Jack had been to her. If it had just been sex, she might have been able to fly under the radar, just like he had.

Walsh nodded. "Well good for you, it could've seriously hindered your career."

"Could've been worth it just to see Hammond's face when I asked him to respect 'don't ask don't tell'."

"I doubt he'd have been shocked. Most seasoned officers know that what goes on out there stays out there... and that a hell of a lot of things go on out there."

"Yeah. So anyhow, O'Neill's still got some pretty solid paranoia going, huh?"

"Tell me about it."

"I don't get it. I mean I've heard about that other Walsh, but it's not like she used him as a test subject or something, is it?"

"I wish I knew, but I'm pretty sure even Hammond doesn't know the whole story. He wouldn't have sent O'Neill to a shrink otherwise."

"So it's probably not something that would be recorded in official reports."

"No, probably not."

Which meant it was something personal. Either something that had happened in the shink's office, or... well, in the bedroom. Or both.

"So how did things go with SG-1 last week?" asked Walsh suddenly.

"Well they obviously sent me out there to make sure I understood the Jaffa rebellion and made friends with Teal'c."

Walsh had talked with him about Teal'c a few weeks back; she'd used that persuasion method where her very sensible arguments meant that she always ended up being right. It was a bit annoying, but she was doing it to help him fit in, after all. It was true that Teal'c made a good ally and the Jaffa rebellion thing was pretty interesting too, from a strategic point of view. He just had to make a really big effort and forget those mental pictures of Teal'c shooting down Jack and Carter. If Walsh could do it, so could he.

She smiled, one of those rare smiles that weren't sarcastic. "Did it work?"

"Well, we're not friends yet. I mean, he looks at me with this... face. You know what I mean, right?"

She nodded. "He looks rather forbidding."

"But then again, so do you, and I quite like you."

Walsh chuckled and got up, stretching. "You're going soft."

"Ooh don't ever say that to a man!"

She smirked. "Well, I have work to do. Thanks for the talk, Charles."

"Anytime."

He watched her walk out. She was doing much better: the anger, the sarcasm and particularly the returning sense of humour were a sign that things were getting back to normal for her. At least, as normal as things could be when you had to find a place amongst people who sometimes still looked at you like you were a particularly stubborn ghost.

* * *

O'Neill watched the hills surrounding their little camp, trying to let the noises of the night relax him. There was no sign of danger on this planet. There wasn't a sign of anything much except for this really old and obviously abandoned piece of temple with what looked like Inca or Mayan or whatever the hell pre-Columbian culture had found its way here.

And no danger meant he got bored. And getting bored meant that he thought about... stuff. Stuff that made him uncomfortable and angry and... goddammit.

He tried to keep his mind on Carter. That, at least, was a pretty valid concern. It was pretty obvious she wasn't happy, and that was bad, for several reasons. It threw a wrench in team dynamics, for one. For another, he liked Carter and she didn't deserve to get hurt. But most importantly, he felt that moments like these – he'd noticed how she'd looked at Laira, too – were building up to something he dreaded. A Talk. A Talk with a capital T where he was going to have to talk about his feelings. At least he'd figured them out now, mostly, but he wasn't sure Carter would like it.

That stupid time loop had been good for one thing at least. The kiss had been fun, liberating, enjoyable. It had been something he'd been thinking about doing quite a lot after the whole za'tarc thing. But once the exhilaration had worn off, he realised he hadn't exactly kissed her in the most serious spirit. It had been a lot about doing something forbidden and stupid, and not exactly about the two of them as a potential couple.

Why hadn't he tried again? Why had he done it at the end of a time loop, instead of giving them some time to talk, to sort out feelings and see where it would go? He hadn't even considered the option. Strangely the kiss had felt like closure rather than starting something.

He was starting to think that nothing was _meant_ to happen between them – ironical, considering the two dimensions where they were together. But nothing had even happened after they'd been mind-wiped and stuck in those mines, where there wasn't anything much to hold them back. That had to be another clue that something didn't quite click. He had plenty of feelings for Carter, but the chemistry, the irresistible draw... well, if there was one, it was buried deep.

And those thoughts, of course, led him to Walsh. Try as he might, his thoughts relentlessly came back to her.

He still didn't know why the hell he'd gone charging into her office. He could have gone to Hammond, that would have been more appropriate. But Carter wasn't meant to let him know about it and she might have ended up in trouble. That made a great excuse, except he hadn't even thought of that until a few hours ago. No... he was going to have to admit to himself that he'd been more than a little eager for a confrontation with Walsh.

It was a really old habit and like all old habits it came right back, instinctively. When Maggie did something annoying back in the 90ies, he'd storm into her office and they'd have a heated argument, usually one with quite a few half-baked accusations on his part and a lot of sharp retorts on hers. That was how it used to work. And then afterwards maybe he'd spend some time thinking about that heated argument, and about how things could have ended if they hadn't been in a public setting. And if he hadn't been married. Oy.

His stupid mind kept going back to Walsh's office that morning, to the way her pupils dilated and her nostrils flared and her frosty demeanour melted, replaced by a kind of rage that made her look more alive than ever. She wasn't afraid of calling him names and giving back as good as she got, and for some weird reason that really got him going. He'd thought about it. In the office, on the table. For a moment it had felt like it might even happen. They'd been staring at each other down silently, and the silence had taken on this... charge.

That really cheesed him off. Everything about Walsh cheesed him off at the moment, from her claim to having feelings for him and her maddening ability to make him believe it for a while, to her... well, her similarity with Maggie, and everything that entailed. That damn chemistry between them – the one he kind of wished he could have with Carter because somehow it would make things _so much simpler_ – showed up in all dimensions, apparently, and it wasn't welcome at all.

"O'Neill." Teal'c was coming back from a little recon around the camp and his arrival was a welcome interruption. The other two were supposed to be asleep in the tent already.

"See anything out there?" he asked as Teal'c settled down next to him by the fire.

"I did not."

Some kind of glowworm fluttered by lazily. There were crickets in the woods. It was pretty warm for the dead of night, especially next to their little fire; they'd been lucky enough to catch this planet in summer. This should be the most relaxing place in the galaxy, and yet...

"What troubles you, O'Neill?"

"I'm fine." Teal'c raised an eyebrow at him. "No, really. Don't I look fine?"

"You were rather displeased before our departure."

"Yeah well I'm better now."

More crickets. Maybe a cicada or two. Funny how insects on human-friendly planets were often kind of similar to those on earth. O'Neill tried to focus on that rather than on the thoughts of Carter and Walsh still swirling inside his head. Didn't work.

"How much did you hear?" he asked softly.

"To what you are referring, O'Neill?"

Teal'c was being a smartass and he knew it. "To that conversation behind closed doors on which you and Carter and Daniel weren't eavesdropping."

"We needed not eavesdrop, O'Neill, simply to listen. Your voices were sufficiently loud."

O'Neill rubbed his face with an irritated grunt. He'd been afraid of that.

"You are not responsible for what your alter ego did with Dr Walsh, O'Neill."

"I know that!" He winced when he realised that his voice had been louder and sharper than he'd meant it to be.

Teal'c just looked at him, his face an unreadable mask.

"That's not why I got angry," O'Neill said more quietly.

"Do you believe in your heart of hearts that she may have had sinister motivations in taking those identification tags?"

Trust Teal'c to go all deep on him. "I dunno. Honestly, Teal'c, I can't tell anything for sure about that woman."

"Are you speaking of Dr Walsh, or of the woman that you once knew?"

"Either, both. Same difference." He poked the fire with a stick.

"Am I then the same as the Teal'cs that others have encountered in different dimensions? Those versions of myself all still served Apophis and caused great harm to your planet."

O'Neill's mind boggled at that. "Come on, you know what I mean."

"Indeed I do not."

"Well I guess that Teal'cs in all dimensions are... kind of the same. Some just don't have the opportunity to change." Or refused it.

"Was Samantha Carter the same as Major Carter, O'Neill?"

Ugh, that was so low. "I think so? I mean you saw how they got when you put them side by side. They could have been twins, apart from ours being in the military."

Okay, so that was a pretty big difference. Their Carter had spent half her life in a culture the other only knew from the outside. It had to change her. She was a military woman as well as a scientist. That had to be the crucial difference, the thing that made the chemistry work in other dimensions, but not in theirs.

"Was the Doctor Walsh you knew not a civilian?" asked Teal'c, abruptly pulling O'Neill from his thoughts.

"Yeah. Yeah, s_he_ didn't have black ops training. You know, the kind where they teach you how to extract intel and make people believe a bunch of lies."

"If Doctor Walsh is lying, then I believe that she is indeed excellent at deception."

"What makes you say that?"

"I happened to see Doctor Walsh during our foothold situation exercise. She watched me shoot you, O'Neill."

"Yeah?"

"Her face eloquently expressed horror and grief at your demise."

Ugh, Teal'c _had_ to remind him of that, didn't he? O'Neill had been aware of her approaching when he was on the ground, seen her pale, distraught face between half-closed eyelids and felt the way her fingers trembled on his throat. That wasn't how a psychopath behaved. It wasn't even how a medical doctor usually behaved. There had been some real emotion there. Why would she have felt the need to pretend?

"Major Kawalsky also appears to trust her."

O'Neill rolled his eyes. "I know."

They hadn't talked about Walsh. Kawalsky was clever enough to keep his thoughts about her to himself and O'Neill was grateful for that. It was difficult enough to get used to Kawalsky again without having to be reminded that he and Walsh were buddies. But Kawalsky did have a good instinct about people... well, the one O'Neill had known did, anyhow.

"Much evidence suggests that Doctor Walsh is a better person than the one you once knew."

Was she really, though? What if the NID had encouraged her, pushed her until she got lost in the science, in playing God? What if she'd just lacked... something, someone that would have reminded her that you don't experiment on people or aliens or whatever those subterrestrials really were? Too many questions, not enough answers. He sighed.

"I dunno what to think, Teal'c. Just that it's way more complicated than I'd like."

Teal'c placed a firm hand on his shoulder for a moment; O'Neill wondered if that was a Jaffa way of saying "women, huh?". It definitely felt like it. They fell silent and watched the fire crackling, listened to the cicadas, but nothing managed to drown out the thoughts swarming around in O'Neill's head. There wouldn't be any sleep that night.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Daniel sighed as he fished a dead damsel out of the fish tank. Every time he came back from a mission, something like this happened. He really should change the water this week-end. He surveyed the tank closely to see if it wasn't some kind of contagious disease. No the clownfish and other damsels all looked happy, and the goby was skulking the rocks, as usual. He nodded to himself and went to dispose of the deceased fish.

Just as he was washing his hands, the phone rang. Hardly surprising, the phone always rang when his hands were wet. People scored bonus points for catching him in the bath. With a mild curse, he hurried to pick up before the answering machine took the call.

"Hello?"

"Uh... is that you, Daniel?"

"Rupert," said Daniel, a little uneasy. He'd avoided calling him back, knowing that it would only lead to questions and lies. He'd succeeded pretty well, it had been six weeks since that last phone call.

"Well, you sound happy to hear me," said Rupert sharply, clearly picking up on the unease.

"I am," said Daniel. "It's just... well, I've been busy, lately, I couldn't really call back."

At least it wasn't a lie. Between the getting Walsh and Kawalsky settled in, they'd been on quite a few missions. In fact he was just a little bit in love with the planet he'd just come back from, where they'd found ancient ruins of a civilisation that resembled Mayan ones. Of course, all Jack could do was bitch about it being boring and getting bitten by mosquitoes all night.

"Then you weren't avoiding me?" asked Rupert.

"Well... to be entirely truthful I didn't really know what I could say."

"That man shouting in the background gave you away, didn't he?"

"I guess he did," said Daniel with a small chuckle. "I don't really like keeping stuff from people, but I've signed all kinds of non-disclosure papers."

"I see. I hear that there's an Air Force base near Colorado Springs. Cheyenne Mountain?"

"You've been surfing the Web too much, Rupert."

"Me? On the Internet?" he chuckled. "Computers crash as soon as I'm in a three foot radius of them. No, no, I have my sources."

"You know that there are at least three other Air Force bases around Colorado Springs."

"Yes," said Rupert. "But I found out that Walsh and some of her recruits worked in Cheyenne Mountain, so that seemed the most likely place for you to be, considering you were asking about her."

"You're well informed," said Daniel. He hadn't expected his friend to make enquiries, which was pretty dumb of him, really. "And you're right, I do work there."

"Thank you. I don't mean to be intrusive, Daniel. It's just that things have been rather quiet around here and I... well, needed something to keep myself busy."

"You said something about blowing up your school..?"

Rupert laughed grimly. "Let's just say that it helped rid the world of a gigantic demon."

"So your Slayer really does save the world?"

"She does indeed. The demon I called you about, Acathla – she managed to stop the ritual. There would literally have been hell on earth if he'd been awoken. We've seen our fair share of dangerous vampires, of course. Though in the last year, things have been... well... a little strange."

"Strange compared to vampires and world-destroying demons?"

Rupert chuckled. "Well, yes. We had the military in Sunnydale, and things changed. Demons became frightened, a vampire got this chip in his head and then this Frankenstein's creature was on the loose thanks to that... that insane harpy."

"Well, I hope you don't think that I'm part of some evil organisation. Not everyone's like the..." NID. He nearly said it, oops. "Like the people who came to Sunnydale. In fact the work we do kinda resembles the one you do."

"Well, you must be quite convinced, if they managed to enrol you into one of their programs. The military doesn't exactly seem to be your usual style."

"Yeah, they had some pretty convincing arguments, let's just put it that way," Daniel said, hating that he wasn't able to say anything more. He'd probably said too much already.

"Although the last time I heard of your work, you were convinced that the Pyramids were landing stations for alien ships, so I'm a little surprised they would take you very seriously."

Ah, the good old ribbings about the Pyramids. That joke never got old in archaeologist circles, did it? Ugh.

"You know, I really wish I could tell you about some of the stuff I found out, but the information is really only given out on a need-to-know basis."

"As long as you're doing something that interests you... I'm certain that it's more interesting than my current activity."

"Which is?"

"Gentleman of leisure. In other words, bored witless." He sighed. "I'm seriously considering going back to England."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. We really should meet up, though, before you leave."

"I'd like that. I have to admit that watching Buffy and all her friends live their lives, which apparently don't include me in them, is getting rather depressing."

Daniel pondered for a moment. "How old is she?"

"Who?"

"Your Slayer."

"She'll be turning twenty next year. That's... well, it's rather old, for a Slayer."

Daniel had finally put the pieces of the puzzle together. "So you were the librarian in her school? And basically put yourself out of a job?"

"Give the man a cigar," replied Rupert dryly.

"No thanks – remember the last time I was in a smoked-up room?"

"You nearly died asphyxiated. How are those allergies?"

"Better, I have a great doctor. And thank goodness, Jack gave up smoking."

"Jack? Daniel, are you living with someone?"

"Huh? No! No, no, no, no, no." He realised that he'd blushed. "No, Jack's a colleague and a friend, we hang around together a lot, that's all."

"Oh," replied Rupert, clearly amused.

"He's the guy you heard shouting in the background last time I called."

"I thought that was just some bone-headed military type, considering the sounds he was making."

"Well... he is. Mostly. Just don't tell him I said that."

Rupert laughed. "I doubt that I'll be meeting him any time soon. Unless he's one who... oh what did Buffy say? Ah yes, the 'cute but suspiciously similar to an FBI agent' person we've seen hanging around Sunnydale lately."

Daniel snorted. "I doubt it."

"We've seen him snooping around Walsh's old apartment. Daniel, please don't tell me that you're involved in studying her zombie or something of the sort."

"Her what?"

"Didn't I tell you? Her creation, Adam, retrieved her corpse and reanimated it. I didn't get to see it, myself, but Buffy assured me that it was most disgusting."

"I'm sure it was. But no, to my knowledge, we don't have anything to do with zombies. Maybe they're just clearing up her stuff."

"Maybe." Rupert sighed. "Riley's been jittery about it, apparently. He's my Slayer's boyfriend, a former recruit of the Initiative."

"Oh... right. Is this the same guy who was trained up at Cheyenne Mountain?" He definitely remembered that name. If memory served, he was the one who'd hit the iris, when Walsh and Kawalsky came through the Stargate.

"Yes, he seemed... well, it's hard to put it in words, but I think that there was something between him and Professor Walsh."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't she a bit old for him?"

"Wha-No! No, no I-I-I mean... I think he cared for her more than... ah... than you normally would care for your... your superior or-or mentor or what have you."

Funny how that got Rupert all flustered, Daniel idly wondered why the idea could be so embarrassing.

"I don't know, I was always pretty fond of all the professors I assisted."

"To the point where you'd find excuses for them after they'd pumped you with chemicals and inserted chips into your chest in order to control you?"

"She did that?" It was the first he'd heard of a chip controlling a human being. That was pretty frightening, and pretty brilliant to achieve just with human technology. He wondered if Jack had been told about this, and how much more it would boost his paranoia if he found out.

Rupert sighed. "She did. But Riley's the sort... how would one put it... I suppose you'd say he's naively faithful."

"Uh-huh?" This was pretty interesting. She seemed to have left both Jack and this dimension's Riley with a lot of mixed feelings. Why would her assistant still believe that she wasn't an entirely bad person, after everything she did to him? Jack would say it was brainwashing, and maybe he'd be right. Or had there genuinely been some kind of affection there?

"He sees Walsh more like someone in need of professional help than... well, a monster. Which is what I think she might have been."

"I thought you were idealistic," teased Daniel. "Make the world a better place, give people a chance and all that?"

"Yes, that was before a number of traumatising events. I do believe that I've become more cynical, of late. Perhaps it was when Buffy's ex-boyfriend turned evil... or when the town's Mayor turned out to be a giant serpent-demon. I really can't decide."

"Sounds rough." Daniel felt for him. It sounded like living in Sunnydale was just as bad as working at the SGC, and with less pay. He remembered Rupert's comments about the broken fingers, he must have been in a hell of a fight, or perhaps tortured.

"Yes. And I was fired as Buffy's Watcher, so since she doesn't officially have to work with me, I see her less and less. So really, I'm not certain that I want to hang around here." He sighed. "Listen to me, prattling on. I know you're not supposed to tell me about your work, Daniel, but we'd better find a better topic than my everyday woes."

"That's challenging. I don't do much outside of work. It's very intense."

"Don't you get to see artefacts? I haven't seen one of your papers in ages."

"Well, I actually get to see more artefacts than ever. And it's all classified." Daniel sighed. "I've made some very interesting finds, and have lots of fascinating theories... none of which I can really discuss."

Rupert chuckled. "Well, let's see if you can help solve one of my current puzzles. Have you ever seen a funerary urn for a Greek god?"

"A what?"

That sounded... ludicrous. Greek gods were supposed to be immortal and reside in Olympus. At worst when demigods died they tended to become constellations – Daniel wondered if this was a metaphor for leaving through the Stargate to another world. In any case, why would they need an urn?

"Yes, that's just how I reacted, when I heard of it. You see, the local museum has asked me to look into it for an exhibition. We've received this early Hellenic vase, which depicts the story of Apollo slaying the dragon Python in Delphi. The strangest thing, though, are the inscriptions. Some are in Ancient Greek, but there's another piece of text in a language that I can't make out. I've never seen anything like it before, and that includes demon languages.'

All the alarm bells went off in Daniel's mind. "A what? What does it look like?"

"It looks a little like Linear A, but it's definitely not that. Besides, we still don't know how to translate Linear A, so..."

That sounded just like what they'd found on Pelops. "And the Greek? What does it say?"

"Well, it tells us that Apollo chased Gaia back to her home in Delphi and defeated her."

"That's not right, surely..." Daniel was already looking up the myth of Apollo in his reference books.

"Well no, the story most of us know is that Python was sent by Hera to punish Apollo's mother for sleeping with Zeus. It chased her, but when Apollo was old enough he chased Python back to Delphi and slew it in Gaia's shrine. Subsequently, he set up shop in Delphi."

"Right, yeah, that's from Hyginus."

"Only if I'm reading the Greek right, and I rather think I am, it seems to identify Gaia herself with a dragon... 'Gaia-drakaina'."

Daniel sat frozen, his mouth agape. The story of a so-called god slaying a dragon-goddess to take her place, and the Linear A, and the strange urn... it all reeked of the Goa'uld. For a long moment, he didn't know what to say.

"Daniel? Are you still there?"

"Yes, sorry, I was just... taking notes." He grabbed a paper and pencil and jotted down what Rupert had just said. "Is this an open urn?"

"No, it's sealed shut, we haven't actually opened it. Besides, Sunnydale museum is rather small, we should really ship it off to a place that can perform some kind of scan to see what's inside before we do anything rash."

"Whatever you do, don't open it," said Daniel urgently. It had to be a Goa'uld artefact, and goodness only knew what could be inside of it. He shuddered to think that another Goa'uld could be in there, but if they could do it with Osiris... damn. Damn damn damn.

"I didn't intend to. Are you all right, Daniel? You seem upset..."

"I... think that I'm going to need to come and check out that urn, Rupert. It could be dangerous."

"Yes, I thought it was rather suspicious too. I mean, it could be nothing, but if someone locked away a demon or something in there..."

"Look... uh... I work with a team of people who specialise in that kind of artefact. And we have the means to study it thoroughly and maybe make it safe. I mean, if it is what I think it is. Just... don't open it."

"I'll make certain nobody touches it before you arrive, then. When can I expect you?"

Daniel breathed a small sigh of relief. Thank god Rupert was taking him seriously. They discussed where and when they could meet, and he was pretty sure he told Rupert a hundred times not to break the seal. By the end of the call, he was covered in cold sweat, afraid for his friend and for Sunnydale. He took a deep breath, and dialled the SGC.

* * *

General Hammond waited in the briefing room, impatience and irritation growing with every passing minute. It was just like Dr Jackson to come up with bizarre, threatening news, which included civilians that weren't meant to know a thing about the Goa'uld. And in Sunnydale, to boot. If the reports were anything to go by, the town was strange and dangerous at the best of times. Well, at least the timing was rather good, in a twisted way.

Dr Walsh was the first to enter, followed closely by Teal'c. They'd both come down from the guest quarters, whereas the rest of the team was probably still in Colorado Springs.

"Teal'c, Dr Walsh, please take a seat. We're waiting for the rest of SG-1 to come in."

She gave a slight nod, frowning in a bemused way, and sat down. Teal'c settled down next to her, raising one of his eyebrows. They seemed to be getting along rather well, considering how wary of him Walsh had seemed at first.

Walsh had given a presentation on Goa'uld biology the previous day. Hammond wasn't a specialist in medicine and freely admitted that he hadn't understood the more technical aspects of her lecture, but her knowledge was clearly impressive and would prove very useful if they could verify it. Dr Warner and Dr Fraiser had been most interested in the home-made device their alter egos had helped invent to separate the symbiote from the brain, which involved a modified zat gun. In fact, Walsh's presentation was convincing enough for him to order a few technicians to start working on a similar device immediately. It may come in handy at any moment.

Dr Jackson came stumbling breathlessly into the briefing room.

"Am I late?" he gasped, dropping into a seat by Teal'c.

"No, Doctor, we're still waiting for Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter," replied Hammond.

"Oh, right." He was more than breathless; he was practically wheezing.

Walsh peered over at him. "Someone seems in dire need of antihistamines."

Dr Jackson coughed, and looked at her cluelessly. "What?"

"I believe Doctor Walsh is referring to your inability to catch your breath, Daniel Jackson."

"Oh!" He cleared his throat again, sneezed a couple times, and fumbled in his pockets. "Must've forgotten to take my pills."

Walsh smiled distantly at Dr Jackson as he went to pour himself a cup of water and swallow his antihistamines. Sometimes General Hammond forgot that Dr Jackson was still a geeky archaeologist with allergies, deep down.

Major Carter entered the room and saluted. "Sir."

"At ease, Major, and take a seat. We're waiting for Colonel O'Neill."

"Yes, sir." Major Carter settled down opposite Dr Jackson, who was still trying to catch his breath.

"You okay, Daniel?" she asked.

"Not really," he said hoarsely. "That's why General Hammond called us here."

Colonel O'Neill entered, saluting quickly. He took one look at Dr Walsh and his expression changed from mildly worried to completely unreadable. Well, at least it wasn't the ostensible hatred he'd shown before.

"You called, sir?"

"Yes, Colonel," said General Hammond, nodding to a seat. O'Neill sat down by Carter, as far as possible from Walsh. "I've called you here because we need to organise an outing in the town of Sunnydale in California, and the five of you are going."

He let the words sink in. O'Neill looked bewildered, whilst a flicker of interest lit up Walsh's face. Hammond wasn't surprised. She'd spent the last six weeks in an underground facility, without seeing sunlight, after all.

"Isn't it up to the Pentagon to clear up Walsh's mess?" asked O'Neill testily.

"That's not the reason for SG-1's visit to Sunnydale. Dr Walsh will accompany you on your flight to Sunnydale for practical reasons, but Major Davis will take charge of her once you arrive."

O'Neill didn't say anything, but he still didn't look very happy.

"In the meantime, SG-1 is going to investigate the possible presence of a Goa'uld artefact. Dr Jackson, this is your cue to explain the situation."

"Okay... I have a friend in Sunnydale, Dr Rupert Giles. He's an archaeologist and specialises in the occult. I had him on the phone just now and he told me about an urn that sounds as if it could be related to the Goa'uld, possibly Apollo or Gaia. It has inscriptions that could be like those we found on Pelops. And, well, you know what happened the last time we found Goa'ulds in urns..."

"And we can't just send in Davis or someone to get this urn thing and bring it back to the SGC?" asked O'Neill. It was a valid question.

Dr Jackson sighed. "No. This thing could be a Goa'uld item but it could also be some kind of demon artefact. If we bring it back to the SGC without examining it first, we could be bringing in something that we absolutely can't control. Rupert knows a lot more about demons than we do, and can deal with it in his own way, if it isn't Goa'uld."

General Hammond was intrigued by the lack of surprise the team showed when Dr Jackson mentioned demons. It was normal that Dr Walsh knew, but he'd have thought at least Major Carter would have protested, and that Teal'c may be confused.

"I take it from your reaction that you've all heard about these so-called demons?"

"Daniel broached the subject a few weeks ago, sir," said Carter. "Although I had no idea demons had artefacts. Next thing we know, you'll be talking about magic."

"Uh... I kind of am," said Dr Jackson, pulling a face. "Occult artefacts are made with... well, occult arts, such as magic, rituals, that kind of thing. And that's also how you deal with them."

"I'm sure there's a more rational explanation to it than that," said Carter.

"Carter, now is _not_ the time," said O'Neill with an irritated sigh. He turned back to Hammond. "So, basically, sir, we go in and examine that urn. If it's got something to do with the Goa'uld, we bring it back, if not, we leave it to them. Right?"

"That's right, Colonel."

"Uh, there is one thing," said Dr Jackson. "About Dr Walsh coming with us... I think that she might be recognised by people over there. Apparently... uh... well, I... heard that someone's noticed one of our people near her apartment. I guess it was Major Davis?"

Hammond glowered at Dr Jackson. So, that's where he got all his information. His friend in Sunnydale had probably been filling in the gaps they had purposely left when they'd presented Professor Walsh's work.

"Maybe some protection should be in order," said O'Neill thoughtfully. "There may be a few people who'll want to kick her ass if they recognise her."

"I agree, Colonel. A member of SG-1 can accompany her, and you'll all be carrying concealed weapons. I'm also sure we can find attire that will make her less recognisable."

O'Neill's pulled a face. "Yessir."

"Right. Then let's have you all ready to leave tomorrow at 0800 hours. Any more questions? No? Dismissed."

* * *

**Author's note:** Dear readers, thank you so much for coming this far! As you can see, we're moving into a new part of the story and you can prepare to see a few more Buffy characters at some point in the not-so-distant future. I'm flattered and surprised that my story has so many followers, specially since it doesn't have any of the fandom's conventional ships. Feedback or discussion is always appreciated (you can also pm me), whether you liked something or not or have questions, etc!


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Walsh stood on the runway, her eyes hidden behind dark glasses, narrowed against the glare of the midday sun. The heat coming off the tarmac blurred the small airport in the background. She took a moment to enjoy it, to breathe the admittedly not particularly fresh air. It still beat the base's constant air conditioning.

So this was Sunnydale, a small town hidden away in a bay on the Californian coast. It sounded so ordinary, considering that it was supposed to be the point of convergence of everything evil, or something equally ominous.

"You gonna just stand there?" said O'Neill as he moved towards the hangars.

They were all dressed in civilian clothes. Teal'c was wearing a rather unflattering fedora, obviously in an attempt to hide the tattoo on his forehead. O'Neill had a leather jacket on despite the heat, probably to hide his gun holster.

Daniel stopped next to Walsh as he exited the plane, apparently also taking in the view.

"I can't believe Rupert's managed to live here for this long," he said.

"Why's that?" asked Carter, who'd just followed him out.

"Well, he's British. I can't really imagine him without his daily dose of clouds and rain."

"Why did he stay here, then?"

"Well, it's because of the Slayer. You see–"

"Daniel? You done with the banter?" Ah, impatient O'Neill, a true classic in his arsenal of obnoxious behaviours. He was also wearing dark glasses, but Walsh was ready to bet he was watching her every move.

"Oh come on, that was hardly classified material."

"We're losing time," said O'Neill, tapping his watch impatiently. He then proceeded to lead the way towards god knew where, in as charming a mood as ever.

It had been hard for Walsh to put O'Neill out of her mind since the dog-tag incident. Things felt unbearably tense with him, there had even been a moment where she'd thought... well, it must have been her imagination, or old memories clouding her judgement. But it wasn't going to be easy to go through all the other Walsh's stuff with him breathing down her neck.

Then again, it could be worse. Carter might have to supervise her. The awkwardness between them was far worse than the bickering with O'Neill. Walsh hadn't wanted Carter to find out about her relationship with Jack. She suspected that there was always _something_ going on between Carter and O'Neill in pretty much every dimension; from Carter's expression when O'Neill had stormed off – and the fact that she'd stood around behind the office door instead of going about her business – it looked like she was right.

Major Davis walked out from one of the hangars to greet them, saluting discreetly. He looked very much how Walsh remembered him. Smart, professional, and slightly bored. All he was missing was the moustache he usually sported in her dimension.

"Colonel."

"Davis," muttered O'Neill.

"I take it this is Doctor Walsh?"

Walsh nodded at him. He didn't salute – he didn't need to, she reminded herself – or offer his hand. Instead, he looked her over critically.

"Well, I guess they won't recognise you like that."

She damn well hoped so. They'd let her use black BDU pants and a military issue brown T-shirt, which were different enough from the other Walsh's usual look, but they'd insisted on changing her hair colour. She'd managed to make them see sense about the black wig that made her look like a hooker – it was too hot for that anyway – but they'd made her a brunette for a day with some kind of mousse. She suspected it might drip if wet, but it looked different enough from her usual blonde. Still, she felt quite silly.

"If you're done admiring her dye job, I suggest we move," said O'Neill. "Carter can go and help Walsh with her stuff, and the rest of us will head off to your friend's."

"Er... you know, I think it might be better if Sam comes with Teal'c and me," said Daniel.

"And why's that?" O'Neill didn't look pleased at all. Carter was trying to keep a neutral expression, but Walsh would bet that she was pretty happy about Daniel's intervention.

"Well, you see... Rupert is... uh... let's put it this way: would you really want to be stuck in a museum with a pair of archaeologists discussing glyphs, mythology, carbon dating, the materials used, and how best to X-ray the artefact?"

"Besides, I might be able to help with the imaging techniques," said Carter quickly.

Walsh was certain O'Neill was glowering at them all behind his dark glasses.

"Fine," he snapped. "But you keep in touch, and you don't move from that museum without telling me where you're going."

"Yes sir," said Carter.

"Of course," said Daniel. He seemed rather relieved that O'Neill wouldn't be accompanying him. Perhaps he was worried that O'Neill would embarrass him in front of his friend.

They followed Major Davis to a small van awaiting them and climbed in. If she managed to ignore the stupid disguise and O'Neill's bad mood, Walsh thought that she might enjoy the ride through the strange little town.

* * *

The taxi pulled up by a large cement building with "Sunnydale Museum of Natural History" in gold letters on its front. Daniel stepped out, gazing around him. The museum was surrounded by a small park. It didn't seem like anything special, and Daniel would have probably never given it a second look if he hadn't known what it contained.

"You ready Daniel?" asked Sam.

"As much as I'll ever be."

There was a lounge at the entrance, small and stuffy with a few potted plants. Daniel's eyes fell on a gentleman in a blue sweater and corduroy trousers who was reading intently. That was definitely Rupert, though a pretty casual version of him. The last time Daniel had seen him he was always in tweed suits, starched shirts and terrible ties.

"That's him," said Daniel softly to Sam and Teal'c. Rupert must have heard his voice, because he looked up just when Daniel spoke, and started getting out of his seat.

"Daniel," he said, approaching with a smile. They shook hands, and Daniel had the impression that Rupert was somewhat warmer, or less stiff, than he used to be.

"It's good to see you, Rupert," said Daniel, smiling back at him. "I'd like you to meet my friends. This is Dr Samantha Carter. She's a physicist."

"Hi," said Sam, with one of her dazzling grins. Rupert mumbled a reply, shaking her hand gingerly, obviously flustered. Apparently he was still just as shy with women, then.

"And this is Teal'c," said Daniel.

"Hello," said Rupert, seeming slightly taken aback. Teal'c bowed in response. The atmosphere grew tense, as if they were trying to puzzle the other out.

"So, Rupert..." said Daniel, drawing his friend's attention back onto himself, "can we take a look at that urn?"

"Oh, yes. I asked the curator if he would let me examine it closely with a few other specialists, and he agreed. It's fortunately not his area of expertise."

He led them through the corridors of the museum, which were bleakly lit by neon lamps. The walls were padded with brown material that seemed rather cheap and gave the place an oppressive feel.

"So, how was your flight? You didn't have trouble finding this place, did you?" asked Rupert.

"It was fine," said Daniel with a smile. It certainly was much more comfortable to travel in a military aircraft than with a couple hundred noisy tourists. Well, as long as Jack kept his grumpy mouth shut at least. Daniel definitely wouldn't like to be in Walsh's place, or even Davis'.

"Do you know if you'll be spending the night here?" said Rupert, ushering them into a small work room off one of the corridors.

"Well, we booked rooms at some motel, but we may not stay. It really depends on what we find and how dangerous it could be."

The urn sat on the table; it didn't really look like much. It was practically heart-shaped, with a narrow neck and a complex wax seal holding the lid on. The handles, running from the mouth of the urn to the bottom of the neck, were still in good shape. Illustrations rolled around the yellowed clay in shades from black to ochre, representing Apollo blasting a very curvy snake-woman with rays from the sky.

At least Daniel thought it was Apollo; the harp was a good indication, but Daniel had never seen him represented with snakes twined around his arm. The art – the shape of the urn and its illustrations – looked Mycenaean rather than Hellenic, but the text was obviously Ancient Greek rather than Linear B as he would have expected with a Mycenaean artefact. That in itself was pretty weird.

"I suppose that you aren't allowed to tell me what it is you're looking for," said Rupert, breaking Daniel's train of thought.

"Well... actually..." Daniel blinked, trying to focus on Rupert rather than on the urn. "Actually, we can tell you about the Goa'uld. Our boss believes it's safer for you to know what they are and how to recognise their items, considering the quantity of demon artefacts that you see."

"The Goa'uld?" repeated Rupert, slightly bemused.

Daniel took a deep breath. This was going to be a very long and tedious explanation.

* * *

Major Davis drove them to what must have been a residential part of Sunnydale. The area where he stopped the van was made up of two-storey condos that seemed relatively new and expensive. Walsh followed Davis up the stairs of one of the buildings, feeling O'Neill's glare on her back. She'd ignored it so far, resolved that she wasn't going to let it bother her.

They got to the first floor, where one of the flats was sealed off with police tape. Davis neatly removed it with a cutter and unlocked the door. Walsh had been anticipating this moment, both dreading it and spoiling to see the place that had once belonged to her alter-ego.

The door opened, revealing a rather neutral interior. She followed Davis inside, through a short hallway and into the living room. Everything was dark until Davis opened the blinds, letting the sun pour into the room through large glass doors. Beyond them was a small balcony. Walsh glanced around her. Eggshell walls, bookshelves everywhere, a comfortable sofa, a desk on which a computer sat, and the copy of a Turner painting that had belonged to her parents hanging on the wall... it wasn't that different from the flat she'd kept in Colorado Springs.

But it was still clear that this place hadn't been lived in for a while. The many potted plants had turned to browning stumps and dry stems. The saddest was perhaps the tall ficus tree standing in the corner. She'd had one in her own dimension and taken great care of it. The sight of it standing bare, its entire foliage strewn on the ground, curled and brown, was disturbing. Though perhaps not as much as the bookshelves, which were all empty. She stared at them for a long while.

"We've been doing a lot of sorting," said Davis.

His voice ringing out in the gloomy silence of the room startled her. She turned to him slowly, and he smiled apologetically. O'Neill was lurking in the hallway, as if he didn't quite dare to enter the room.

"She left a lot of private records of classified experiments," continued Davis. "We've shipped them to Area 51 with the rest of Professor Walsh's experiment reports and anything else sensitive. Basically, everything in those boxes should be safe." He pointed at a number of cardboard boxes piled up in different corners of the flat.

"Yes," replied Walsh absently. "I understand."

"You'll find clothes and other personal belongings in the bedroom, also boxed up," continued Davis. "We'll need to check again, but you should be able to bring those back to the SGC, if that's what you'd like."

She took a deep breath. They'd been going through her alter ego's belongings. Through her bedroom drawers, her photo albums, her diaries, her private correspondence. They would know about anything she and Professor Walsh had in common. A sick feeling crept into her stomach. She hated it when people knew more than they should about her, especially when she hadn't decided to tell them herself.

"Well, thank you for your work, Major."

He nodded. "As soon as you're ready, we can go through what we've got here."

Oh, wonderful. She'd booked herself in for another torture session without realising it. Of course, it was procedure; they needed to make sure nothing had escaped them.

"I'll tell you what, Major," said O'Neill suddenly. "Why don't we go get some coffee, let the lady go through her stuff, and then if you like you can check _again_ that everything's okay to go back to the SGC."

"I thought that we weren't to let her out of our sight, Colonel...?"

"When I said 'we', I meant 'you'."

Walsh stared. What was O'Neill doing? Perhaps he wanted to be alone with her to rehash their most recent disagreement. Considering his attitude so far, it was the only thing that made sense.

Davis said nothing, frowning and looking rather confused. He probably didn't like how his neatly organised plans were being rearranged by O'Neill's new orders.

"I'll call you when she's done," said O'Neill. "Enjoy the sunshine."

"Sir," replied Davis with a nod, and he left, clearly irked.

Silence ensued. O'Neill was still standing at the threshold. She stared at him in silence.

"What?"

"I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"What other shoe?" said O'Neill.

He finally entered the flat and closed the door behind him. She watched as he pulled off his jacket – he was wearing a holster under it, as expected – and settled down on a chair by the desk. He could still see her from where he was, but made a big show of producing a yo-yo and fiddling with it.

So, he didn't seem to have any immediate plans to start a row again. Which meant... was he doing this to be nice? To give her privacy. Perhaps he was just biding his time.

Walsh shook her head and sighed, sitting down on the sofa and pulling a cardboard box towards her to explore its contents. At least there would only be one person to watch her as she went through Professor Walsh's most private belongings, and despite his animosity, she would probably still have chosen O'Neill over anyone else.


End file.
